Jul 132013

Read Me the Story:
hotsy-totsy-PSThe Cast Manager of Club Priape looked him over, and Lewji obligingly turned, slowly, striking a pose. No reason not to. Stav Benthik’s employers did not stint on the quality of their tools, and the biosculp they’d sprung for, before he left Lyad Retsa, had been top quality in its class. He now looked ten years younger than his calendar age, somewhat enhanced where it would count the most, and a whole lot less experienced.

Of course, the biosculp had been accompanied by the implantation of a sensory recording net, add-on modules for the existing mastoid implant, and enough other thises-and-thats to make him feel like a virtual, if temporary, cyborg. It had taken an extra thirty hours or so just to run it all in and get it functioning smoothly.

“I see you had your physical exam and license review on Mesram Xina,” she glanced at the readfield on her desk, then returned to looking him over with practiced attention. “The license review is fine, but we have local regs, so you’ll have to re-do the physical here. But if you pass, we can prep you at the same time, and the fee will be on us.”

That meant A) he’d gotten the contract, and B) Club Priape was every bit as high-end and professional as Stav had indicated it would be. First hurdle passed. Stav had warned him that Priape was “clean— we have nothing to do with it, no connections. Has to stay that way. That’s partly why we’re using you on this job.”

The license was a put-up job, just like the illicit ID he was using, but again, it was top quality. And he’d done enough sex work in the past to pass as licensed. Prepping was a disagreeable necessity for health and safety reasons, but it also enabled a sex worker to use MetaTest safely, and that made the job a whole lot easier. “I’m fine with that,” he told her.

She finally cracked a smile. It wasn’t much of a smile, and it didn’t go beyond the lower half of her face, but it was enough. “Alright, last check, let’s get a retina, and you can stat-print the contract.” She tossed him the Eye-D. He caught it, blinked into it, and it confirmed his ID and initiated the standard InfoWeb searches— clean, of course. He placed it on the desk; she was already reviewing the results.

“Good. Here’s the contract, eyeball it and statprint. It’s a class 2 temp; if we like your work, we’ll upgrade after three payouts— that’s in section twelve.” She handed him a flatreader with eyeball tracker and built-in Eye-D scan, a standard legal registration tool. “You can sit, if you want,” she gestured to one of the couches on a side wall.

Lewji shrugged, and kept reading. Not fast enough to invalidate the track, but not terribly attentively, either. It was a standard employment contract that obligated them to do nothing but pay him if they felt like it, and gave them legal cover to kick his ass out anytime they wanted. Final execution contingent on the outcome of the legally-required physical exam and successful completion of the “FuckPrep Select” temporary biomod process.

The validation clause at the bottom flashed red when he reached it, and supertext appeared over the readfield: ‘To validate this agreement, activate Eye-D scan and read validation clause into audio pickup.’ He found the activation slide, blinked into the scanfield, and said, “I, Jannas Tango, register my agreement under Hub Mercantile Code Section nine-eight-two, for the execution of this agreement, identified as delta-six-ed-four-one, with Club Priape and its parent corporation Pandor Entertainment Limited.”

The clause turned blue, and he handed the flatreader back to his new boss. “Great. Go get your physical, and report for wardrobe review and New Cast orientation at half-seventeen.”


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