Archive for the ‘Insilico East’ Tag

The Ivory Dame Caper   Leave a comment

Full-size photos at my Flickr stream

It had been a long day, a day in a string of days filled with lots of nothing. Business lately was flatter than a Martian flat cat; and brother, that’s flat. Even the weather was depressed; it had been spitting rain all day, the kind of rain that ate holes in ceramacrete here on Chania 3, nice and acid.  Anyway, I was sitting in my office, fighting the latest battle in the age-old war between income and expenses. As usual, the expenses were winning; I hadn’t seen a clipped credit in weeks.  I was already a month behind on the rent; the landlord was beginning to give me the fish eye and tap on the commlink on his belt every time he saw me, which was turning into every morning as I walked in the lobby.  I knew what that meant; he kept the name of his favorite bouncer on speed dial there, some critter big and blue and with six arms.  When that guy bounced you, you stayed bounced.

I was getting ready to give it up for the day, when there was a knock on the door.  A knock on the door meant one of two things:  the landlord’s bouncer, or a paying client.  Right at the moment, I couldn’t be fussy.  If it was the bouncer, he’d just rip the door off if I didn’t open it, and the landlord was in the right, anyway.  If it was a client, I might just make enough out of this to stave off Blue Boy’s advent.  I keyed the door….

…and knew that this case was probably gonna be worth big credits, and that I was in a whole lot of trouble from the get-go.

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Tales from Insilico — The DJ’s Freedom and Pain

Click here for Part I….

Caution: one photo below potentially NSFW/NSS

Some people felt that the life of a disc jockey — an archaic name for a job that had last seen a disc of any kind hundreds of years and a galaxy ago — was a mindless grind of cuing music files, fielding requests, and hoping that the boss would cough up the promised pittance, euphemistically referred to as “pay.”

Playing DJ at a club in Insilco

Jadzia begged to differ, at least while the music played.  To Jadzia, formerly Shayana the courtesan, the music was freedom, and the music was joy, and the music was escape from the blasted hell of the streets outside the club she worked at.  She was never more at home, never more comfortable, than when she was behind the music desk, punching up songs and mixing…. Read the rest of this entry »

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