Page 2 of The Pleasure Contract

A new message appears in projected form, the text appearing letter-by-letter like I was watching someone type.

‘Your personal comm has been granted restricted access to digitized information from your home planet. This is currently limited to text and images from the data sphere humans name as the ‘World Wide Web’.’

“You can get on the internet? Could I use that to contact home?”

The previous text vanishes from the space between me and my little orb before it is replaced by more.

‘Negative. Communications with planets protected by the Intergalactic Peacetime Authorities are strictly prohibited, and will incur penalties dependent on method, frequency, and contents of said communications. Your personal comm’s ability to perform such an act has been disabled.’

My shoulders sag at that. So, no contacting Mom. It makes me sick to think how she must be feeling right now, not knowing where I am or if I’m okay. How many of our Sunday phone calls have we missed now?

My orb writes me a new message.

‘Would you like me to instruct the cook to provide morning nutrition?’

“No,” I snap, reaching for a silk robe I’d left strewn across the ridiculously ornate, Xaviann-sized couch I have here in my rooms. “I’ll make my own breakfast.”

I’ve just about learned how to work the nutrition replicators to rustle up some buttered toast. Except the butter is definitely not butter and leaves an odd but not unpleasant aftertaste.

Making my way down one side of the huge-ass twin staircase, my bare feet touch the cool stone-flagged flooring of the house’s foyer. I’ve never lived in a place with a foyer before. Hell, I’ve never lived in a place with a porch. One place had a stoop that everyone in the neighborhood seemed to think was a public bench, though, so that’s… something.

It was nothing like this, obviously. In the center of the entrance hallway is a circular table – a table made of the deepest, richest shade of wood and polished within an inch of its life. Honestly, I think you could use its surface as a mirror. The table is crowned with a huge vase of flowers every day. And each day, the flowers seem to change. I don’t know who changes them. One of the three staff members, I’m guessing. I wish they wouldn’t bother. What a waste of money. Particularly today. Today, the arrangement includes the type of alien flower that moves. The first time I’d seen it, I’d screamed. I’m still unnerved by it now. I would feel better if the stems of tulip-like blooms just moved with each other, kind of like they were having a party in that very expensive-looking vase of theirs. But they don’t. They move with anyone in the room. As in – they follow you – their petals reaching out and chasing your movements as much as they can while shuffling around in their vase.

I try not to look at them as I walk past the table. But from the corner of my vision, I see them stir and sweep past their normal, non-moving housemates as they try to keep up with me.

I haven’t had enough alien ‘caffeinated beverage’ for this shit today, I swear.

Just as I turn my back on the creepy tulips, a chime sounds, signaling that there’s someone at the door.

Turning, I’m about to go to answer, but I stop when my eye catches the Little Shop of Horrors over here desperately trying to follow the swift movements of Zek, one of the staff of the house.

He beats me to the door. With one hand on the door handle, Zek offers me a pointed look like he knew I was going to do the task myself, knowing that he’s told me countless times not to.

I roll my eyes and fold my arms, waiting for him to just hurry up and open the damn door instead of making such a fuss.

I hope it’s Vel. I could ask her what other Earth music she can upload into my little sassy, spherical personal DJ.

Zek opens the door and, seeing who is on the other side, bows low. Oh God, is it Lady Zalora? She’s been threatening to come over to teach Jaya and I a game called duos. Which I wouldn’t mind, but she is not the most patient of teachers.

I watch as there’s murmured conversation. Zek then closes the door and… steps aside. The chime goes off again.

Zek does nothing.

“Aren’t you going to?…” I say, my words trailing off as I gesture to the sizable pink double doors.

“I have been instructed that it is you who should answer this time, Lady Lois.”

“I-” I glance down at myself. I’m still in my PJs and a robe. My hair still looks like it has a personal vendetta against gravity. I pat my chest. Thankfully, both tits are where they should be. “Now?” I ask Zek.

He only answers with a smile and raised brows.

The door chimes again.

“Fine,” I mutter, walking briskly past The Day of the Triffids as I clutch my flimsy robe to my chest.

I fling open the double doors, but where I’m used to Xaviann head-height to be, there’s no face to be seen.

A set of double horns interrupts my view, and I adjust my sights to directly in front of me.