The Loyalty Test 2020
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The Loyalty GeneChapter 17 free porn video
With Jason and Stephanie on the road and safe for the moment, Alfred checked his message queue. The Charlie avatar stationed at the Grainer mansion had posted an update. Representatives of the Saudi Arabian prince were due to arrive today. Alfred did not want to miss watching Grainer admit he no longer had Miss Stephanie. If things went well, the prince might have Grainer murdered, and that would be lovely.
With a flick of concentration, Alfred spawned an avatar to keep an eye on his charges.
>avatar guardian/keep stephanie and jason safe, harry
lipread.app
Oh, of course, why hadn’t he known? Every bloody cyber assassin had a lip-reading app. Alfred selected the transient flight services ramp and initialized the program.
A sleek Gulfstream G1550ER turned off the taxiway, and a uniformed attendant directed the aircraft to its parking spot. Other attendants darted under the fuselage and chocked the aircraft’s tires.
Hydraulics whined—apparently, the app provided ambient sound—and metal stairs extended from the aircraft. At the same time, a uniformed crew member opened and secured the passenger door. Moments later, an olive-skinned man with a full, dark beard and a western-style suit exited the plane. He stood on the tarmac and glanced at his watch.
Another man, who until now had stood near the transient terminal, stepped into view. He extended his hand and, in passable Arabic, said, “Assalaam ‘alaikum. My name is David Grant. I represent the seller. He has authorized me to negotiate any last-minute details.”
The bearded man nodded and replied in English. “And peace be upon you, Mr. David Grant. You may call me, ‘Abdullah.’ My apologies for any impoliteness, but is she ready? It is a long return flight, and my prince is eager to meet his new concubine.”
“There is a temporary setback. The girl has slipped away from her benefactor’s care. My client expects her safe recovery within the hour.”
“Pardon me, Mr. Grant, but I must inform my prince.” Abdullah spun towards the aircraft door. “The phone, bring it to me!”
A crew member emerged from the cabin with a compact handset. The device’s squat, tubular antenna identified it as a satellite-connected phone. Because the signal went almost straight up, these devices were thought impossible to eavesdrop upon. Alfred knew better.
Abdullah took the phone and strode towards the opposite wingtip. He faced away from the camera, cutting the audio off. The view shifted rapidly until another camera with coverage was located.
“My prince,” Abdullah spoke in Arabic, but a translation program changed the words to English. “It may be as you feared. The unbelievers do not have the girl. They claim she ran away.”
Alfred considered the turn of events. It looked like an opening had presented itself.
“Base, Twenty-three.”
“Twenty-three.”
“Investigate a possible ten forty-eight at the Super Eight Motel in Elm Grove.”
A ten forty-eight? Not many people tried to impersonate a police officer anymore. Today’s holographic badges and identity cards were impossible to duplicate. “Roger base, ETA seven minutes.”
This early in the day, the Super Eight’s parking lot was nearly empty. Most travelers were in a hurry. They began their travels early and kept driving until late. Big Steve and the other troopers cleaned up after the drivers who pushed too hard.
A white panel truck occupied the parking spot directly across from the pool. A man wearing a dark green Department of Homeland Security jacket stepped around to the front of the truck. His eyes bugged out at the sight of the cruiser.
In his seventeen years of service, Trooper Schaefer had “seen some shit.” Only the genuinely law-abiding or the smoothest of sociopaths managed to pull off an innocent look. The rest always looked guilty as hell, just like the man in the DHS livery.
“Base, twenty-three.”
“Base.”
“You got anything on a DHS operation at the Super Eight?”
“Negative, twenty-three. Do you request backup?”
Two men in disposable, neoplas coveralls stepped out from around the truck. They froze after spotting the cruiser.
“Yes, send backup and a lieutenant. DHS has a forensics team here.”
“Affirmative, twenty-three. Be careful.”
“You got it, base. Twenty-three out.”
The DHS agent advanced towards Steve with his hands in the open. Steve exited his cruiser and waited.
“Everything is under control, trooper.” The agent flashed a holographic badge slowly enough the logo popped into view, but not slow enough for Steve to read the man’s name.
Schaefer frowned. Feds were all the same. “Do that again but hold your ID so I can read it. Then show me your search warrant.”
Puffing out his chest, the DHS agent blustered, “I have all the jurisdiction I need.”
The two men standing by the truck held a brief but heated discussion. One of them turned and strode to Steve’s right, the other to the left. Their movements were slow and calm, just two, every day, regular guys in hooded coveralls strolling across a sunny parking lot.
This shift in the tactical situation set Big Steve’s cop senses to full alert. “You two,” he pointed with his left hand while shifting his right to the butt of his service pistol, “get back in front of your truck. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
The man in the DHS jacket raised his hands in an apparent attempt to diffuse the situation. “Trooper, please. This is all a misunderstanding. If you’ll just wait a second, I’ll—”
Whatever the man intended to say was cut off when Steve drew his pistol. The two men in neoplas had turned back towards their truck. However, while turning, the man on the right slipped a hand inside his coverall and withdrew a bulky military-grade Taser.
Tasers came in two flavors, civilian and military. Civilian models, the so-called “safe Tasers,” only allowed single-shot cartridges. They were powerful enough to incapacitate an attacker and allow the shooter to flee. Military tasers, like the one on Big Steve’s duty belt, were capable of multiple jolts or even one continuous, and likely fatal, discharge.
“Drop it,” boomed Steve. neoplas rustled to his left, and Steve risked a glance. The other man had drawn a Taser as well. Steve threw himself back but kept his pistol on the target to his right.
A crack in the asphalt caught the heel of Steve’s boot. He stumbled and fell as a Taser’s twin barbs zipped past from his right, trailing a pair of loosely coiled wires. As Steve’s butt hit the ground, he centered his sights on the shooter’s torso. His pistol bucked twice, and two .45 caliber bullets punched through the target’s chest.
Tires squealed as another State Police cruiser entered the parking lot.
The DHS agent had his pistol in hand. He spun and double-tapped the other coverall-wearing man.
A state police lieutenant advanced with his service pistol in a modified Weaver stance. In the distance, a siren blared from another cruiser.
The DHS agent dropped to his knees, placed his pistol on the ground. He bellowed. “I have nothing to say until I speak with my lawyer.”
Holy shit! Trooper Schaefer climbed back to his feet and secured the DHS agent’s firearm. What the fuck just happened? The after-action shakes began.
“God damn it, David, if I had the little bitch, I’d turn her over.” Roger all but screamed into the phone.
“Calm down, Roger. All I’m saying is the prince isn’t pleased. He requires you to provide lodging for his people while you recover his property.”
“Fine,” Roger gritted his teeth. “I’ll take care of it.” He stabbed the phone’s off button and then stabbed the intercom button.
“Yes, Mr. Grainer,” the household AI spoke in its smooth gender-neutral voice.
“Secure suitable hotel accommodations for a party of eight. Then call David Grant and give him the details.”
“Length of stay, sir?”
He glared at the desktop speaker. “Indeterminate.”
With nothing to do except wait for word from David’s recovery team, Roger stood and walked smartly towards the kitchen. Sometime over the last ten years, he’d grown accustomed to the little bitch slinking around. She was rarely far away, no matter how he’d punish her. It was like an invisible rope linked the two of them. It had to be that loyalty gene her breeder bragged about. Then again, if the so-called loyalty gene actually existed, how had his pet managed to run away? She had ample opportunities over the last few years.
It had to be her pregnancy. Human females experienced crazy hormonal swings daily. It’s what made them unstable and incapable of making sound decisions. One would think genie designers would eliminate such inconveniences from their products. As for his little bimbo, with her body a raging sea of maternal hormones, there was no telling what ditzy thoughts drove her.
While making a sandwich, something he hadn’t done for himself in years, the phone buzzed. It was probably David with another of the prince’s demands. He crossed over to the comm panel and answered the call. “Another problem, David?”
“Mr. Grainer, my name is Alexander Howzer. I’m an attorney, and one of my clients asked me to contact you.”
“Mr. Howzer, I’m kind of busy. So, if you’ll get to the point?”
“Of course. My client was part of a team sent to recover a certain property of yours. Trace DNA led them to a particular room. While investigating, the State police became involved. My client attempted to distract the State Trooper, but there was an altercation. The trooper killed one man. My client silenced the second. Your property was not recovered.”
“Oh, shit.” The words slipped out.
“Indeed, Mr. Grainer. If my client is to remain silent, he’ll need reassurance his legal bills and financial needs will be taken care of.”
Shit! “Mr. Howzer, I’ll connect you to my AI. Give it your contact information. One of my attorneys will contact you.” Roger made the arrangements and hung up.
His sandwich forgotten; Roger stormed back to his office. “I will beat the little whore to death.” There was one option left. However distasteful it might be. From inside his safe, Roger removed a business card. Just reading the man’s name made his hands shake. He’d never hated anyone like this since high school.
Twenty minutes later, fortified from a shot of his favorite single malt, he dialed the number. Seconds passed with no ringing. What if the number was out of service? It had been nearly nine years. Then, an all too familiar voice answered.
“Ah, if it isn’t my diminutive friend Roger Grainer.”
“Good day, Mr. Timms. You owe me a refund.”
“It’s a little late for that. You’ve owned the item for over a decade.”
“None the less. The item failed to operate per your guarantee. A refund is due.”
“All right, this line is secure. What are you claiming my genie’s daughter has or has not done?”
“She ran away yesterday. My agents tracked her to Wheeling, West Virginia.”
“Where did she escape from?”
“My residence in Cincinnati.”
“That’s...” Gene’s voice trailed off. Roger heard the clicks from a keyboard. “That’s over two hundred miles. Much too far for her to travel on her own. I take it you shared her with a friend or perhaps several friends?”
“Share her? Of course not. The very idea is disgusting. She’d be soiled.”
Timms hissed, and Roger wondered if he’d somehow offended the genie peddler. A moment later, Timms recovered and continued as if nothing happened. “As you say, Mr. Grainer. I’m merely trying to understand why a genie of her pedigree might commit suicide.”
“You think she’s trying to kill herself? But ... but she’s pregnant.”
“Ah, now that clears everything up.”
“It does?”
“Think, Mr. Grainer. To whom do immature animals look to for protection?”
Flustered, Roger almost flung the phone into the woods. He called Timms for assistance, not for a quiz, and definitely, not to be belittled. Roger closed his eyes and shook himself. It always happened like this. The annoying bastard got under his skin.
Timm’s chuckled and said, “Mr. Grainer, allow me to refresh your rather short memory. Her mother still resides in Wexford, Pennsylvania.”
Roger had studied maps all morning. Wheeling, West Virginia lay between Cincinnati and Pennsylvania. Everything became clear. Roger said, “She’s running home to her mother!”
Jason clicked off the autopilot and manually backed his truck into the garage. “Hey, sweetheart, we’re here. Alfred, is the coast clear?”
“Mr. Timms remains out of state. Shall I relay a discreet message to Miss Natalie?”
Turning to watch his girlfriend stretch, Jason said, “What about it, Steph? Call, text, or would you rather run home and surprise your mom?”
Sometime after leaving Wheeling, Stephanie had fallen asleep. She wiped her eyes. “I’d like to see Mom.” Her bright green eyes studied the world beyond the open garage door.
“Alfred, can you make it so?”
“I have complete control over the Timms’ security network. There will not be a record of her visit.”
The interior of the garage held Stephanie’s attention for a moment before she turned back to Jason. “What will you do while I’m gone?”
“Besides miss you with every fiber of my being? My truck needs some preventative maintenance, and Alfred and I have some business to discuss.” He opened the driver’s side door and stepped out.
Stephanie slid across the seat and into his arms. “I think,” she said, “all that sleep recharged my batteries.”
His voice suddenly husky, Jason said, “At this rate, you’ll be ready for the full ‘Jason Thomas experience’ pretty soon.”
“Oh,” Stephanie blinked, “What do you call last night?”
He grinned. “A light warmup. You’re still in training, padawan.”
An extra warm fingertip prodded his chest. “I think you’re full of it.”
“I think you’re the one who’s gonna be full of it.”
Stephanie’s green eyes darkened; he and she were teetering on the edge of a severe public display of affection. Screwing in broad daylight with the garage door open wasn’t a good idea under the best of circumstances. Backing away from her wasn’t easy, but he managed to disengage.
“Sweetheart,” he said, “go visit your mom. Give her my thanks. There isn’t any way I could repay her. I owe her everything.”
“Jay,” Steph stepped close, her eyes bright again. “We’ll talk about it later, but Mom and I ... well, it’s us who owe you.”
Except for the days when Gene visited, Natalie filled the hours with housework, exercise, and hot steamy baths. Since Alfred’s surprise visit, he occasionally checked in with a generalized update. Natalie knew her daughter and Jason were somewhere safe. That was enough. What she didn’t know, she couldn’t tell her owner.
The day’s chores were finished, and Natalie contemplated a light lunch before her afternoon exercise session. Lately, she’d switched back to a mixed martial arts regimen. The mix of strength, flexibility, and cardio complimented her abilities.
The lock on the back door clicked open, and a familiar voice called out, “Mom? I’m home.”
Mom and daughter hugged each other for a long, long time. Ten years is like forever when you miss someone you love. Not wanting to let go, Natalie held Stephanie out at arm’s length, “I don’t know why you and Jason are here, but I’m glad to see you, sweetie. I’ll make us a pot, and we can talk.”
While their tea brewed, Natalie covertly examined her daughter. She was thin as a rail, probably because Roger hadn’t fed her enough. Then under her bright kitchen light, something else caught her eye. “Let me see your arms.” Once Stephanie held her arms out, the faint lines from old scars were visible. “Where else?”
“My back, my butt, and my legs.”
“Has Jason seen them?”
“I don’t think so. The light wasn’t right,” Steph took a breath. “They’re really faint, and you know how we heal.”
“If I can see them, he will too. Can you keep Romeo under control? If he goes gunning for your owner, it’ll be bad.”
Stephanie grinned at her mother’s old nickname for Jason. “I don’t know if it will be bad or not. Jason’s done something to their household AI, and Alfred is like a movie supercomputer. He can do almost anything.”
Uma
- 01.05.2021
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