Read Online Oculus (Oculus #1) by J. L. Mac, L. G. Pace III - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: J. L. Mac, L. G. Pace III
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path.
“Here to trade. Got some goods.” His eyebrows rise, but otherwise he remains motionless, as if waiting for me to say more. Then his eyebrows drop and he looks thoughtful.
“So,” he says, his body language betraying his growing discomfort. “Have you traded with us before?” Having to deal with this kind of socialized idiocy sends a pang of discomfort through me. Anna used to deal with these people, now I’m going to have to figure out a way to put them at ease. No simple thing, especially since I always seem to make people nervous.
“Anna used to trade for us. She got sick. Died.” The man’s face falls at the news, yet his body language shows he’s still nervous. Raising my hands slowly, I pull my hood back from my face. As soon as he sees me he gives a low whistle.
“You’re him, aren’t you? Anna’s Shadow? The one that makes The Corp puke’s bowels turn to water.” Behind me, I hear rustling as two people step out of cover. Ahead, two more step out onto the path. I shrug, not comfortable with the direction the conversation is going. I don’t like to talk about myself, especially not with a complete stranger.
“Anna and I worked together for a long time. Now I work alone. Can I pass?” He opens his mouth, as if to speak, then snaps it shut.
“Sure enough, we welcome all customers, provided they know the code.” The men on the path behind him keep their hands on their weapons, not relaxing in the slightest.
“The Black Market has all, The Corp has nothing. Everything from green twist ties to jelly beans.” The code changes, and I hope the one Anna had given me is still valid. New codes are given to customers before they leave the market. The man before me nods, then steps aside and waves me down the path. ‘
“Welcome Shadow, we are pleased to count you among our customers.” I feel their eyes on me long after I leave the checkpoint behind.
It takes the better part of an hour to reach the clearing with the barn. Sprawled in a rough semblance of order are all manner of structures. Tents, lean-tos, rough tin shacks and canvas structures lay in rough lines before me. I have never been to The Black Market before, but Anna had told me all about it. The outer ring of stalls sells weaponry, ammunition, and medical gear. The inner ring sells books and technology. You can also get almost any service you can think of, from medical treatment to intimate personal services.
Three painted ladies spot me walking alone and descend upon me like vultures onto a fresh carcass. They remind me of something I once read about, the mythical Fates, aspects of the same woman. One is young, far too young to be in her current profession. The second is about my age while the third looks to be middle-aged at best. The reeking cloud of their perfume reaches me before they do and I dodge aside, glaring at them to keep their distance. The older one cat-calls after me as I avoid them.
“We don’t bite fella! Well, not unless you pay extra! Come find us later!” With a shudder, I lose myself among the stalls. My experience with women is spotty at best, but I know well enough to avoid the brothels. Genetic enhancement can only protect me from disease so much.
The stall I find myself in search of sells books. I need to trade my bulky supplies away, most of which are contraband books, for things that are easier to carry. I hate the thought of being without anything to read. But if I’m right about my mental faculties breaking down, I don’t have the luxury of down time.
Anna had told me that the best stall was Mirabelle’s, an elderly woman with a love for literature. Asking around, I’m directed to a bright purple tent. As I stride in that direction, a young woman looks up at me in alarm and turns to call back into the tent.
“Mir! You have a customer!” From within the stall a stately older woman steps into the daylight. White hair frames a wizened and wrinkled face. Clear, blue eyes peak mischievously
“Here to trade. Got some goods.” His eyebrows rise, but otherwise he remains motionless, as if waiting for me to say more. Then his eyebrows drop and he looks thoughtful.
“So,” he says, his body language betraying his growing discomfort. “Have you traded with us before?” Having to deal with this kind of socialized idiocy sends a pang of discomfort through me. Anna used to deal with these people, now I’m going to have to figure out a way to put them at ease. No simple thing, especially since I always seem to make people nervous.
“Anna used to trade for us. She got sick. Died.” The man’s face falls at the news, yet his body language shows he’s still nervous. Raising my hands slowly, I pull my hood back from my face. As soon as he sees me he gives a low whistle.
“You’re him, aren’t you? Anna’s Shadow? The one that makes The Corp puke’s bowels turn to water.” Behind me, I hear rustling as two people step out of cover. Ahead, two more step out onto the path. I shrug, not comfortable with the direction the conversation is going. I don’t like to talk about myself, especially not with a complete stranger.
“Anna and I worked together for a long time. Now I work alone. Can I pass?” He opens his mouth, as if to speak, then snaps it shut.
“Sure enough, we welcome all customers, provided they know the code.” The men on the path behind him keep their hands on their weapons, not relaxing in the slightest.
“The Black Market has all, The Corp has nothing. Everything from green twist ties to jelly beans.” The code changes, and I hope the one Anna had given me is still valid. New codes are given to customers before they leave the market. The man before me nods, then steps aside and waves me down the path. ‘
“Welcome Shadow, we are pleased to count you among our customers.” I feel their eyes on me long after I leave the checkpoint behind.
It takes the better part of an hour to reach the clearing with the barn. Sprawled in a rough semblance of order are all manner of structures. Tents, lean-tos, rough tin shacks and canvas structures lay in rough lines before me. I have never been to The Black Market before, but Anna had told me all about it. The outer ring of stalls sells weaponry, ammunition, and medical gear. The inner ring sells books and technology. You can also get almost any service you can think of, from medical treatment to intimate personal services.
Three painted ladies spot me walking alone and descend upon me like vultures onto a fresh carcass. They remind me of something I once read about, the mythical Fates, aspects of the same woman. One is young, far too young to be in her current profession. The second is about my age while the third looks to be middle-aged at best. The reeking cloud of their perfume reaches me before they do and I dodge aside, glaring at them to keep their distance. The older one cat-calls after me as I avoid them.
“We don’t bite fella! Well, not unless you pay extra! Come find us later!” With a shudder, I lose myself among the stalls. My experience with women is spotty at best, but I know well enough to avoid the brothels. Genetic enhancement can only protect me from disease so much.
The stall I find myself in search of sells books. I need to trade my bulky supplies away, most of which are contraband books, for things that are easier to carry. I hate the thought of being without anything to read. But if I’m right about my mental faculties breaking down, I don’t have the luxury of down time.
Anna had told me that the best stall was Mirabelle’s, an elderly woman with a love for literature. Asking around, I’m directed to a bright purple tent. As I stride in that direction, a young woman looks up at me in alarm and turns to call back into the tent.
“Mir! You have a customer!” From within the stall a stately older woman steps into the daylight. White hair frames a wizened and wrinkled face. Clear, blue eyes peak mischievously
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