I try to speak to him, but he ignores me, and I just stand there like an idiot.
But I will not be beaten that easily.I’m not a fucking Labrador for him to walk past in the kennel. If he wants a poodle, fine.I’ll show him human curves he can’t ignore, brown hair or not. I have not put up with all the Sovereigns’ crap to fail now.
The Sovereigns move the conversation forward, but I’m not listening. I’m brainstorming about how I’m going to make Tribune Jin Kol listen to me.
After the trainers’ meeting is over, we have a break before the reception in the ballroom for the VIPs. I have roughly an hour to change my appearance.
41
ALIEN MAKEOVER, EVE
I returnto my quarters with Jin Kol's dismissive glance still burning in my memory. He'd looked right through me like I was background noise in my formal uniform while he focused on the spectacle of pets and power players.
"Damn it," I mutter, pulling up my reflection in the smart mirror. The uniform that once made me feel professional now works against me because Jin Kol is a sexist bastard.
Internal comms signals me. It’s Lira calling. I accept, still in the bathroom looking at my reflection.
"How did it go?" she asks without preamble.
"Not well. Tribune Jin Kol barely acknowledged my existence. I tried to discuss the genetic preservation protocols with him, and he actually turned his back on me, mid-sentence, to watch a pet demonstration."
"Ah." Her tone suggests this isn't surprising. "You needthe dress."
"What dress?"
"The dress that makes men remember they're mortal. Meet me in fabrication. Level forty-seven."
The fabrication center is a marvel of technology. Walls lined with molecular printers, holographic design interfaces floating in mid-air, and fabric samples that shimmer with properties that shouldn't exist.
Lira stands before the main design console, her fingers dancing through holographic fabric swatches. "Strip," she commands.
"Excuse me?"
"The printers need exact measurements. And I mean exact, every curve and every angle. The dress I'm thinking of requires precision."
I hesitate, looking around. We are alone here. As I remove my uniform, Sister Agnes’ voice echoes in my mind: "Modesty is a woman's greatest armor."Not today,I think. Not in Hell.
The scanner bathes me in blue light, creating a perfect 3D model that appears on the display. Lira studies it with an artist's intensity. "You have beautiful lines," she says, manipulating the hologram. "Now let's make Tribune Jin Kol see you."
She begins designing directly on my holographic form. Black fabric, but not just black. This material seems to absorb light, creating shadows that emphasize every curve, and a neckline that plunges dramatically.
"I can't wear that. I'll fall out of it."
"No, you won’t. It’s gravitational micro-weave," Lira explains. "It’ll respond to your body's electromagnetic field. The more confident you feel, the better it holds. Doubt yourself, and well..." She grins. "Don't doubt yourself."
The back of the dress is nearly nonexistent, just strategic bands of that light-eating fabric. The skirt hits mid-thigh but features slits that travel dangerously high.
"How much will this cost?"
"Let's see... with the specialty materials, the gravitational weave, the thermal responsiveness..." She calculates rapidly. "About three months of your salary."
I wince, checking my credit balance. “I can’t afford that. I don’t even have enough credits in my account.”
“Nonsense.” Lira taps her IC. “You’re not buying it personally. You’re attending a gala as liaison to the Sovereigns, which makes this a diplomatic presentation expense. I’ll authorize it through the general liaison fund.”
“I don’t want to cause trouble,” I say quickly. “If the Sovereigns review the ledgers?—”
“They won’t blink at one gown,” she interrupts. “They spend more on wine during a single High Table. Still…” She glances at me, her expression softening. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll mark it for shared usage. Future liaisons can claim it as a wardrobe asset. That way it won’t look extravagant.”
