by Pfantazm

	When Evan finally did make it home, he was that tired. He wanted nothing more than ten or twelve hours of downtime. His wall-puter's screen had come back to life as its owner walked in the door, and was discreetly informing him that he had received new messages since the last time he'd checked. This gave Evan new energy. He bounded over to the screen and said, "Display headers." It was there. Quinn had responded. He played back the message. which was voice only, and synthed at that, and smiled at the last bit. Mr. Quinn was going to have some difficulty getting the file to copy, if he'd found the right one. Evan's hands itched. If this Quinn really had the file, he could get his ass out of this black hole and on to more lucrative turf. Anticipation was killing him. "Reply to this message," Evan commanded, then saw himself in the mirror on the shelf nearby. Was that cum in his hair? "Voice only." "One guideline I have," Evan's a-mail said, "is that I like to see and hear who it is I'm dealing with. I'd like to talk to you in video chat at the least. I think you'll be very interested in what is contained within the files that you and I have. "One word of caution: do not make a copy of the file. I need the original...." "You need what?" Scott said over the a-mail's soundtrack. "...way it will work. As I said, it is a most unusual file. "I'm very much looking forward to talking to you again. Thank you." The same closing animation appeared, and Scott was left more than a little speechless. He needed the original? What in space could he possibly mean by that? Even if he was slipped a copy, it's a copy of a graphics file. How could he ever know? This was Scott's livelihood: working with various files, determining their validity, deciding their worth, and presenting the requested information back to the client. He'd done everything from data recovery to fraud cases. The client he was working for now, here on Therion, had hired him to figure out how some smugglers were moving their cargo through his warehouses. There are certain highly prized mind-altering chemicals the average replicator can't or won't reproduce, and it's still more cost-efficient to ship such things. The client wanted to know how the trick was done. Scott had found the jiggered ship rosters, and determined that the crates had to be moved onto spaceships that docked at two different ports on the same planet. He was about done. It had almost been too easy. Copies were exact duplicates. Everything in his experience said so. And yet, this Evan character didn't look that stupid. In the same batch of messages, there had been a reply to his enquiry into the matter on Panopia. The client was a hotel, and the house detective there was well aware of Scott's abilities and experience. He still believed he'd found the right man for this job. He couldn't ignore a paying customer, and smaller companies like this hotel (big for Panopia, but no multiquintillion, multiplanetary megacorp) were least likely to try to cheat him out of his fee. On the other hand, this Evan person just wanted a file, and hit that perfect note of strangeness that had the mark of an Interesting Case. Scott went afore to the cockpit, where his pilot lived. Meicross seemed to be negotiating his way into some heavy cybering with a woman on the planet below. She had long waves of ruby red hair, dark eyes, and a seductive smile. "Sorry to interrupt," Scott said. The pilot proved his devotion to his employer by excusing himself from the conversation for a moment. He also knew the girl would understand. "Yes, boss?" he asked, with a dreamy smile on his face. Scott suppressed a grin of his own. "I have a client on Panopia, but I'd like to make a side trip to Halvaga III briefly if I may. How far out of our way would it be?" Pilots need implants to fly, but only the very basic interface with their ships. The ship had all the navigational information, but Meicross was able to answer without consulting it. His eyes simply rolled upwards to unseen navcharts on his mental ceiling and said, "It's a pretty straight line through Halvaga. Even if the third planet is on the far side of the sun this time of its year, it's no more than five days out of the way, coming and going. I'd need to look that one up. No one goes to Three if they can help it. It's pretty shitty, you know? But four minimum, five max." "Then we'll make the trip. Plot the course - at your convenience." Scott did smile after all. "You got it, boss." Meicross turned back to the lady he was seducing. Scott went back to his terminal thinking what a pair they made. Studies had proven what many had suspected all along: humans were, for the most part, bisexual. There were the few on the fringes who were truly monosexual, but under the right conditions, 98% of people could make do with a man or with a woman. Polarization was a human concept imposed on nature to try to make it fit with our own ideas of what should be. Yet still, Meicross was interested only in women, and Scott only in men. Around three out of five people stuck to one or the other. Like many human concepts, they were hard to give up, even in the face of solid evidence. Meicross would say it was a matter of comfort. He enjoyed the company of women, and trying to pick up a guy wouldn't be as familiar. Why go to the extra trouble? Scott was more precise. While he could make do with a female in a pinch, he'd never been that pinched, and he strongly preferred men. The broadness of their shoulders, strong legs, rugged looks, and above all, cock. Scott loved cock, and wasn't nauseated by pussy. Why shouldn't he choose what he wanted? At his terminal, the data miner thought about what Meicross would be up to momentarily. There was no reason he should be the only one to get some tonight. He instructed Minder to seek out suitable .scen files available from the planet for upload. He continued back to the flip room. He sealed both doors and locked them. Meicross would still be able to get to either side of the ship from the cockpit, but suspected he wouldn't need to move for a good, long time. He hung onto the bar between the doors, and stripped off his clothes. There were no lights in this mostly useless area of the ship, just a large window into space, providing the slightest illumination reflected from the planet. The ship behind them in orbit could see into the room is the occupants had truly wanted to, and if that were the case, Scott was not going to deny them. He pushed off the bar and floated to the storage bin to the side to keep his clothing from getting in his way. This was a zero-g area, and there was nothing more distracting that getting a sock in the face at an inopportune moment. Now that everything was secure, he flew back to the bar and pulled out the cable to Ganymede. Minder would feed him the VR scenario through Daybreaker's computer. Broadcast VR still required a full body suit and 360x360-degree mobility to simulate any kind of motion and sensation. Cable VR into an implant acted directly on the nerves, and freefall allowed his body to move in any direction without moving around within the room. It was the perfect set-up. He would jack in, and jack off. Scott made the connection. He was Wyatt_Cassidy, semipro aeroball centre. His team, the Falcons, had won the game, but Wyatt's own game was shit. He was pissed at himself, mostly, because he could have cost his team the game, but more because he was better than that. He'd hung around late in the showers, hoping the reporters would give up and leave without an interview. He was definitely not in the mood for explaining himself tonight. The locker room was quiet, but then, one sports reporter by himself wouldn't make much noise. He crept out of the shower area, with nothing but a towel around his waist and peered into the locker room. On the way by, he saw what he looked like in the mirror. Strong, square features, black hair with what looked like midnight blue streaks. Stubble flecked his chin. His eyes were a deep shade of orange. The little piece of Wyatt who remembered that he was Scott thought the colour scheme was odd, but perhaps there was a local player who had the same. His body was thick with muscle, and he judged himself to be maybe 185 cm tall and 90 kg. He was a bit taller and bulkier than he normally liked in a guy, but then this was his body, so it was okay. The smell of the sweat in the locker room and the feeling of cold tile under his feet brought him back into the fantasy, and he continued to sneak around, seeking the press. His towel started to peel away from his waist, and Wyatt moved fast to cover it. He kept one hand at the corners to hold it in place. You'd think with all the training equipment the Falcons provided, they'd buy decently large towels. He peered cautiously around the corner and saw that he wasn't, in fact, alone in the room. There was someone at a locker. The open door swung his way, and he saw that his name was on the door. Wyatt charged up to the intruder and grabbed him by the collar. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" While he was stammering for words, the interloper got the once-over from Wyatt. Spiky blond hair topped a pale face. His classic Earth-Scandinavian look was changed slightly in his eyes. Instead of pure blue, they had a cloud effect; looking into his eyes was like gazing at the sky. "I was-- I was--" "You were in my locker. And you'd better have a damn good reason for having your nose in there." The jacket the - thief? - was wearing was red and white. The opposing team wore those colours. "You're not a reporter, are you." Wyatt said it more as a statement than an interrogative. The guy hanging by Wyatt's fist seized on the easier question. "No, I'm not. I'm a Raptor." The centre lowered the guy back to the floor. Wyatt hated reporters, but this was a jock. "So what the hell are you doing here, man? You've got your own locker room." "I know," said the kid, and he was, compared to Wyatt. He had to be maybe five, six years younger? "I just wanted to see...." Wyatt thought he understood. In this league, you were either on your way up, a young buck like they were, on your way to the majors, or you were just off your career from the pros, not washed-up exactly, but not popular enough to be worth having on the team. Some people were both in one: good players who would just never make it into the majors because they never caught a recruiter's attention. Another reason for Wyatt to be upset with himself. Too many nights like tonight and he'd be one of those. Some of the zines said he was worth watching, though, and there were some who were fans, and maybe this guy was one of those. "What do you want?" The kid licked his lips and tried to stare Wyatt in the eye, but his gaze wandered down to Wyatt's broad chest and taut stomach. Wyatt was suddenly aware that if he was holding the jacket collar with both hands, then his towel had probably fallen off by now. Wyatt also looked down, and saw a massive boner in the kid's track pants. "What's your name?" "My teammates call me Hawk." Wyatt smirked. "What do you call you?" "Torio." "Come with me, Torio." Wyatt turned around, closed and locked his locker and headed back to the showers, confident his admirer would follow. He started the hot water flowing from a couple of adjacent showers. He'd just been in the shower, and was pretty sure that Torio had too, but then, Torio had come here to get messy. Wyatt looked over his shoulder and saw the blond standing there. Predictably, he'd left his clothes out among the lockers and was standing nude and very excited. There was the same roundness in the arms and shoulders that he'd admired in so many of his teammates. The bulging square chest, the narrow waist, the powerful legs. Torio was young and took quite good care of his body. The shy look in his eyes was contradicted by the long slab of meat that bobbed in the steamy air in front of him. Wyatt wet his body down and ran his hands through his hair. "Come on. What are you waiting for?" Torio hesitated, as if he wasn't sure he was really being invited to do what he thought. "Torio," said Wyatt, "are you going to come here, or do I have to pick your cute, naked ass up again and carry you over?" Torio suddenly smiled and walked over to the showers. He got under the jet of water and splashed around a bit before turning to face Wyatt. "I've been watching your career, Wyatt. I tried out for semipro and hoped to be picked up by the Falcons. At least I can play against you every once in a while." Wyatt raised an eyebrow and grinned at Torio. "You don't have any idols in the majors?" "Oh, they play great," Torio said. "None of them are as hot as you." He walked right up to Wyatt, put one hand on his ass, the other on his neck, and stuck his tongue down his throat. Wyatt responded lustily, gripping the rookie tight, his fingers kneading Torio's hot flesh. The athletes' cocks got pressed together between their squirming bodies. Wyatt was a bit taller, so Torio's dick and pubes ground into his balls. Wyatt turned to lick Torio's neck. He tasted wonderful: sweet water, salty sweat and a hint of a cologne he didn't recognize. Torio sighed and moaned into Wyatt's ear. The rookie's cock slipped from its place between them, and lodged itself between Wyatt's legs. Torio groaned and pushed upwards, grinding against Wyatt's tender underside. The two guys humped together, wet skin sliding, and they lost themselves in the pleasure. Torio's strong fingers found Wyatt's nipple and pinched him. "Oh, yeah," Wyatt said breathily, "just like that, man," Wyatt ran his fingers down his opponents' back, feeling every cord of muscle, every ridge and every knot on his spine. Torio bent down, keeping his body as close to Wyatt's as possible, and sucked on his tit. "Ngghh, yeah, man." Torio teased the hard nub in the middle with his tongue, bit it cautiously and tugged on it, seeing how far he could take the titplay. Wyatt's cock couldn't have been harder. His piece was right up against Torio's abs and rode up and down in the groove between them. He was getting seriously hot for this boy. He didn't know whether he wanted to fuck him or take him up the ass first. Wyatt hoped they'd have time for both. The hot water cascaded down their bodies. The air grew thicker with steam. The adversaries' well-toned bodies gleamed in the bright light of the shower area. Torio slid downwards along Wyatt's body, his eyes locked on Wyatt's. He got onto his knees and grinned. He took Wyatt's cock, touching it only with fingertips and stuck his tongue out to catch the drops falling from his manhood. Everything was gone. There was nothing below his feet, no water, no light. Only blackness and a klaxon ringing distantly. >Sorry to disturb you, Scott, came Minder's voice. >A call has come in from the planet with the authorization to interrupt this session. There was a moment of confusion while Scott/Wyatt sorted out who he was again. It was for reasons like this that Minder ordinarily wouldn't interrupt the scenario until it was done. "Dammit," said Scott, frustrated, "who is it?" >The police. Scott unhooked himself and blinked in the flip room. His eyes had been expecting bright light, so now all he could see was the window to space. He pushed off the bar, and made his way by feel to the bin where he'd stowed his clothes. "Are we in some kind of trouble, Minder?" He pulled his shirt over his head, and let it go at that. The police wouldn't be able to see anything below his waist. >I don't know. The data miner flew to the door, and unlocked it. Meicross, from the pilot's room, turned to look. The comm unit was flashing and he saw how Scott was dressed. His erection bounced as he quickstepped to the comm. "Are we in trouble, boss?" "We'll find out." Scott opened the channel. "Hello, this is Daybreaker." "Hello, Daybreaker. This is Captain Black436 of the Therion Planetary Constabulary. Is this Scott_Quinn I'm speaking with?" Scott read the man's full UID from the screen. "Yes, sir. How may I help you?" "I understand you provided one of our shippers here with some information about a smuggling ring that was moving through our planet." Scott blinked. "I suppose I did. I've been working for one of the shipping firms, trying to determine how smuggling was accomplished in his company specifically." "Well, the smuggling ring we've been investigating went through Mr. Wolf's warehouses, and almost all the others on our world. We would be most interested in hearing how you managed to find the smuggling." "Mr. Wolf gave me the data of what ships came and went, their rosters, and his own inventories. I simply processed it. I can give you a report before I leave orbit." Captain Black smiled. "We would appreciate that, Mr. Quinn. The other reason I was calling is to get your account number. We have a reward for information leading to their arrest." "Great!" He reached over and pressed a few keys, transmitting his account info to the captain. "Is that everything, Captain?" "I'd say so, Mr. Quinn." "I'll get that report off to you within the next couple of days, then." "Good. On behalf of Therion, Mr. Quinn, I thank you. Signing off." Meicross laughed from his seat up front. "A little extra cash, hey, Boss?" "Yeah. It'll do us good, Meicross." He looked at his pilot, then down at himself. "Looks like we both lost the mood." The pilot laughed again. He turned back to his screens. Scott thought about heading back into VR, but decided not to. He should finish the report as soon as possible so he could keep on schedule. He could finish things with the aeroball players when they were en route to Halvaga III. "Minder, download and save the .scen file I was in for later, please." >Done. The .scen file is part of a series. Would you like the others? "Sure, why not. Also, check ShadeofBlack436. Make sure I was talking to a cop just now." He'd hate to have to close that extra account. They weren't always easy to come by. Over the next couple of days Evan checked his mail obsessively. Would Quinn get back to him? Could he be convinced to come planetside? Mail came in for his other deal first. It looked as though he had a buyer for the other item he'd managed to pick up. RavensLock27 had agreed to Evan's price and was willing to meet. All he needed to do was arrange a time and a place. Even if the deal with Quinn didn't go the way he hoped, this would bring a heavy wad of cash in. While he was checking his mail one evening a call came in. The caller had clearance to speak, and had an emergency override to boot. OxygenJim's face appeared on the screen. "Evan, you gotta help me! There are these guys hanging around my apartment. I don't think I can go home--" "OJ," he began. He hesitated only a second, then said, "Get to the building where we partied with Bronzie, okay? Go there the long way around and I'll meet you there in half an hour. Get off the 'net now." Evan signed off on him, and hoped he'd listen. It sounded like OJ might be in some trouble. It hadn't been so long ago that Evan had met him at his place, and it might be his fault. On that eventuality, he grabbed a pak and began putting things he'd need into it. He had to move fast; if his hunch was right, he'd start feeling the pressure soon. He had to make sure he didn't leave anything he'd have to bring off-planet if necessary. If the Quinn deal didn't come through, they might have to go into hiding for a long time.

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