Wake up, Time to Live

"Open your eyes … "

The voice seemed far away, indistinct. Other sounds. The hum of machinery. The clank of metal. Dripping water. Muffled conversation. Radio static.

Then the smells assaulted her. Sweat. Spoiled food. Sulfur. Cigarette smoke. And something else. She concentrated. Fear. She smelled fear. Fear of what?

Her eyes remained closed as she gathered more information. Fabric, scratchy. Utilitarian by the texture. She was covered by it. Something in her arm. She could detect an osmotic pressure. Why? She was lying on something cold and hard. Very cold. Not unpleasant, but measurable. A table?

"Come on, open your eyes."

A different voice. This one was arrogant.

"When did she arrive?"

"About an hour ago, on the last transport."

"Yeah, and so what's that say?"

She could hear tapping on a keyboard. The blink of a readout.

"Pleasure model. Military."

"What? That ain't right. Some moron playing jokes. Should read Military Pleasure Model. Ain't that the way they always send 'em? Gimme that."

Two bodies moving, switching positions.

"Gotta be some moron. I'm changing it right now."

"Do you think that's a good idea? I mean, maybe it's a new designation. I wouldn't be so quick to hack into the database."

"You always was a wuss, Weston. Got no balls. I'm fixing it now. You think you're gonna stop me? Heh."

More tapping on the keyboard.

"Pretty fine one we got us, too. I may just have to be the first in line, maybe even right here."

She kept her eyes closed, listening.

"Don't! She's not even sentient yet. Christ, you disgust me."

"No balls, Weston, you got no balls."

The sound of footsteps. Walking away. Walking on - a grid?

"Please, open your eyes …"

The first voice. Weston's voice. Weston's voice …. fading ….

Date: 2003-06-11 17:30