Snake Eyes

“I check on all first assignment officers. It’s essential after the testing process. Usually, if you make to three weeks without any problems, you’ll be fine.”

“That’s a comfort. Why didn’t you come earlier than this? I thought the worst reactions occurred right after psych testing is over.”

“True, but I’ve come to give you a physical check up.” She smiled. “Your behaviour we can see for ourselves.” Johnson scanned the room for optics, knowing they would be nearly impossible to locate.

“Why wasn’t I told I’d be under surveillance in my briefings?”

“We like to see two weeks of natural behaviour before we mention surveillance. We have a better understanding of our active officers that way.”

“You make me sound more like an experiment than an enforcer.”

“All the procedures are in place for good reasons. I can assure you that safety is the first priority.” She gestured towards his couch. “Why don’t you sit down and we can get the examination out of the way.”

Johnson sank into the cushions and said, “Off.” His viewer, already blank, died. Dr. Weaver carried a small medical pack with her, the size of a wallet. She brought it out of her inside jacket pocket and approached him.

“Take off you vest. Shoes and socks too.”

“What?”

“You’ll be more comfortable. This won’t take long, Officer Johnson.”

She looked into his eyes and ears with her delicate scopes and scanned his chest and head. The tiny clicks and hums of the equipment reminded him of insects. Apparently satisfied, she replaced the small pack in her jacket.

“Raise your arms.”

“What for?”

“Glands. Come on.”

While she checked under his arms for swelling he looked at his own chest where he could see the tattoo. It seemed to have turned around. He was sure the head had been facing upwards before.

“Why the tattoo? Is that your idea too? They call me Spider now, you know.”

“Everyone gets something different depending on the job they’re doing and the area they’re doing it in. It isn’t always tattoos either. We give them piercings, scarrings, familiars, projections—whatever allows them to blend in to their surroundings and prevents them from being identified.”

She ripped open the panel on the front of his leather striders and yanked them down a few inches before he could even protest. He imagined she must have done such things a thousand times to a thousand stunned officers. With practised fingers she prodded his inguinal area for swelling and abnormality.

“Everything seems to be fine.”

She smiled at him and then pulled down his underwear. Before he could cover himself up again she closed her velvet warm mouth around his penis. Johnson tensed, unsure of what to do.

“Is that part of the examination?”

She didn’t answer.

Chapter 19

When they’d finished, Johnson lay on his bed and watched Weaver dress; disguising her femininity and curves beneath flattening underwear and the angular lines of her suit. When she was done there was no trace of the woman he’d discovered, only the doctor, and in her eyes no recollection or acknowledgement of what they had done.

“You’re a Soothsayer now, Spider. How does it feel?”

“I’ll tell you when I notice something happening.”

She laughed then, as if he’d made a joke.

“Can’t you call me Johnson?”

“No. No one can now. You’re in character. Who knows how long you may have to stay that way?”

“Will you check on me again?”

“I doubt it”

She left then, without another word.

He lay there thinking about her for what seemed like hours but when he checked his clock only a few minutes had passed since she’d walked out the door. Lying back, he luxuriated in the rumpled covers, surrounded by smells of cinnamon spice perfume mingled with their sexual fluids. Had she turned off the surveillance while they were doing it? Was it actually some kind of further psych test? And what about the Sooth, he wondered, when would it start to work?

Did I get a bad batch? Did he rip me off?

When he got up to go to the bathroom he noticed something that looked like a twisted wire protruding from the upper corner of his bedroom to the left of the bed. As he approached it to look closer, he saw another one directly below it where the walls met the floor. Surely, this clumsy workmanship wasn’t JHD approved. He got down on his knees and inspected the intrusion.

The vine, if that was what it was, was a deep green; a lush green that hinted at plentiful rain in misty valleys. Along the three or four inches that were visible, tiny spearhead shaped leaves and spiraling tendrils reached out for purchase. Growing at an upward angle, as it was, towards the centre of the room, it had found no such support.

The one growing downwards from the ceiling was similar but slightly longer. He shrugged and went to take a leak. The pest control manager in his block would be hearing from him.