Exchange of Information [for Evil Empire]

© 2012 Eliseolisbos

Jathna Hib sat down at a table to one side of the low-lit room, peering around. She hoped she didn't appear too anxious, but considering her overall appearance, that wasn't a high possibility. Besides, no one was paying much attention to a tall, muscular female wearing travel-worn battle armour and a thick scarf over a black corset and loose, brown trousers. Most of the other patrons of the L'Obliet were more concerned with getting sucked off or fingered in the low couches placed haphazardly in the dungeon-like space; the scent of cock-jizz and cunt-juice rose up in the air, thick and heady, mixing with the smoke being produced by the few sputtering candles.

She wasn't here for a fuck, even though she paid a lot of money to enter one of the most popular whorehouses this side of the massive Kasjh River. She was here on a mission, a very serious mission, and she needed to find her contact as soon as possible. She hadn't been given a description, which was unusual. The only thing she knew was the code-phrase that would be used.

Someone sat in the seat opposite her and Jathna frowned. One of L'Obliet's whores smiled in return, long black curls framing a narrow face; strands of paste-jewelry hung around the smooth neck in many loops. The whore sported loose, flimsy clothing, hiding nothing and revealing that as feminine as they appeared at first glance, this was actually a male.

"Hail, wanderer," he said. "I am Yoia. What can I do for you?" He twisted his fingers in his curls, and gave Jathna a coy smile. "I am here to serve."

"I don't need your service," Jothna said, keeping her words and tone short. "I'm waiting for someone."

"Here in L'Obliet?" Yoia tilted his head. "You've been here before and you want the person you had the last time? Is that it?"

"No." Jothna wanted this person to just leave.

Yoia leaned forward, touching Jothna's hand where it rested atop the table with his long fingers. She noticed that he wore many rings, and on each wrist was a tight circlet of dull copper.

"You can't just sit in here without taking someone. You paid to enter and it looks very suspicious. You're not horny?"

Jothna curled her lip at him, at all his bothersome questions, and moved her hand away. "Not at the moment."

"Something wrong with you?" He tilted his head the other way, dark gaze considering. "With all your parts?"

Jothna squinted at him, and Yoia chuckled.

"Oh, I've had your kind before," he told her. "You're Ivitian, right? From the south. I can tell by your neck-patterns."

Jothna fought the urge to pull up her scarf. Ivit tribal-markings were sometimes too distinct: a matter of pride within the region of her own people, and a liability in the rest of the Empire. Yoia grinned at her; his teeth were straight and even, and very white. Human-like teeth, and he did look mostly human, except his eyes had that vertical slit which indicated some Bastian blood. Jothna ran her tongue over her own sharp, dangerous teeth in a contemplative manner.

"But you know what they say," Yoia said, in a slow, thoughtful way, 'you can't always judge an Ivitian by the marks on their necks.'"

Jothna stared at him. That was the code-phrase, word-for-word. This was her contact: a whore with plump lips made for fucking, big dark eyes and caramel-smooth skin. This was the person who would hold such vital information for the Resistance.

Maybe her birth-parent Hib Hon was right: the Resistance was going to lose, and badly.

Yoia stroked a finger through a circular patch of water left behind by some other patron's drink.

"How many credits do you have?" he asked, gazing down at his all-important task of making patterns in the water. Jothna calculated in her head and told him. He nodded. "Go over to that table in the corner there, next to that corridor, and tell the Master that you're taking me for one hour. That's one-fifty."

Jothna felt her eyebrows

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