Stratus Fear

Chapter One

Arianna put the last touches on the food she would serve for lunch, and then placed the dishes back in their thermoforms to keep warm. The wines had already been chilled to their desired temperature, and everything so far seemed to be in order, even perfect.

Gavin would be home shortly, but she still had time to walk out on the terrace and drink in the beautiful day. The air seemed so clean and fresh, thanks to the massive filters, and now it came scented with the foliage spaced along the deck, honeysuckle and hibiscus, roses and wisteria. A sweet, warm breeze caressed her arms and shoulders, teased the ends of her long hair. She never let a day go by without feeling thankful for the opportunity to live here, a place and time akin to nirvana, so quiet and peaceful, a harmony of bliss. She hated to go back inside but Gavin would be home soon and he expected her to serve him.

Once in the apartment, she shut the large windows and converted them to the holo-screen. It seemed the perfect time for a clean, fresh southwest mountain motif, and so she voiced the scenario she wanted to play across the width of the room. Soon the trees that had since become extinct—the leafy golden Aspens and the sturdy cottonwoods—flourished beneath the panorama of blue sky, while a few wisps of clouds breezed over the peaks of the sienna mountain range. A waterfall splashed in the distance. Occasionally a hawk screamed, followed by the warbles of other forest birds, all in all a perfect setting to harmonize with the cool, relaxed atmosphere of the apartment.

Returning to the living room, Arianna took a seat on the comfortable sofa in slate blue, and assumed a welcoming and provocative pose. She wore only the long, bronze dress he liked on her, the fabric clinging to every curve and contour, the color a good match to her hair and a compliment to her vivid hazel eyes.

As soon as front door panel whooshed open Gavin walked into the apartment, the circlets of iridescent glass that made an esthetic curtain tinkling as he passed. He looked more tired than usual, his face tight with the concerns of the job, and yet he still made it a point to return home for his midday meal. When he spotted her he worked up to a lighter, congenial smile.

Hello darling, he greeted and set down his brief case.

I’m glad you’re here. Arianna uncurled her slim form and rose, ready to give him whatever he wanted. Now relax and I’ll fix you a drink.

I really shouldn’t, but I will. As Gavin sat on the sofa and stretched, she went over to the programmer and selected his favorite, a Gin Rickey. No matter how much he drank Gavin never appeared or acted drunk, and by the time he returned to the office any effects of the alcohol would have vanished. His drink appeared moments later in a cocktail glass, garnished with a sprig of mint and a slice of lime. If Arianna drank, this would be her preferred beverage, too.

When she brought over his drink, he patted the cushion next to him. Have a seat, darling, and tell me how your day went so far.

Gavin never talked about his work, and she never asked or pried, even as her curiosity peaked when she regarded the news stories concerning the company he worked for as a senior vice president.

I had the usual morning, Arianna said as she slipped her arm along the sofa’s back rest and curled her long, shapely legs beneath her. Nothing to brag about.

As long as you’re not bored.

Never, darling, not when I know you’ll return to me.

While he sipped his drink she studied him. Gavin McAllister had a beautiful face with classic lines, proud discerning blue eyes, and thick and neatly trimmed hair. The change in his hair color from brunet to white had occurred in his mid-thirties, and Gavin told her once that it had to do with genetics, that most males in his family simply grayed early. A daily regimen of exercise at his home gym kept him lean and toned while his skin remained supple and tanned from the supplements he used.

Five years ago he accepted Arianna as his companion when he moved into Elysian Towers, the luxury condominium complex much-coveted by many who could afford the monthly fees. Gavin had called in a few favors when this apartment became available and he went straight to the top of the list. So far their relationship proved compatible and beneficial to both. He told her that he enjoyed coming home to someone he could talk to, a real person who understand his feelings and needs. Of course, he had a drone to do the general housekeeping, but a machine—even in the guise of a human—would not and could not offer warmth and affection.

Now Arianna moved closer and worked her hand beneath his olive turtleneck. As she stroked his smooth, hard chest, Gavin leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and emitted a brief sigh of satisfaction. He could be a difficult man, operating on many levels, some more intense than others, some even mysterious. Yet less than a year into their relationship Arianna had broken through his defenses, unlocked his heart, and amazingly, gained not only his love but his trust. Thus she had learned to read him so well, those small gestures and quirks that revealed his temperament and mindset. For instance, the faint but clever smile he just donned revealed his growing passion, quick to replace exhaustion. It wouldn’t be long before he scooped her in his arms for that first, heady kiss. Anticipating his needs, Arianna had already set the mood in the bedroom.

I have filet mignon for lunch, she murmured, very succulent and meaty. The man who sold it to me said this lot was his best so far.

Lunch sounds delicious, Gavin announced in his smooth, alto voice, but I’m not really hungry at the moment. I need to work up an appetite.

He opened his eyes, set aside his drink on the nearby cube table and then pulled her against him. Arianna purred with delight while his hands smoothed along her curves and caressed her breasts beneath the satin-like fabric of her gown. When his mouth took hers she delved into their kiss with fierce desire. His lips always felt so silky smooth, his tongue and mouth resplendent of citrus and mint. Last night he tasted of the spicy and sweet chutney he had with dinner, his body still clinging to the sweat of the day before his shower. Arianna looked forward to these sensory experiences, some new, some repeated, but enjoyed just the same—even after all this time together.

Holding her hand Gavin stood and brought her to him. Then with arms around waists, they drifted to the wide master bed, the room already primed for sex, the lighting muted to a soft blue glow, the sheets crisp and fresh, the ceiling softened with a shooting star panorama, and the room itself redolent with fragrant mists of bergamot and zibet.

Arianna worked fast and skillfully to rid them of clothing, so that flesh could meet flesh. Gavin possessed a sleek and sculpted form, every muscle worked to perfection, his stomach flat and rock hard. She had come to love every inch of him, beginning at the top of his head and working down to his perfect toes. Now as she lay along the bed and held out her arms to him with her siren song he surged across her body.

Hands clasped on her shoulders he slid his mouth to her breasts, rasped her nipples with his tongue and kissed the undertow of each perfect mound. He wanted it hot and fast now, the soft and easy set aside for later when they retired for the night. She reached up, circled her arms around his neck and brought him down to her mouth with brutal need, biting, scraping and nipping. In turn his hands roamed freely over skin already warm and glossy. Then he raced down and found her ready, eager. He slid into her while she grasped his hips, the pace already hers, urgent and greedy. She rocked and clutched, tormenting him with her friction.

And all the while his fingers dug into her shoulders as she drove him hard and deep, his penis a magnificent tower, a hard, smooth, ivory column that filled her and made her swell with hot desire. Their hearts pumping wildly together, she showered his neck and throat with quick, delirious kisses. Arianna dared to look at his face, flushed and damp now, his eyes glassy and bright, like polished agates. She stiffened when ready; and when it seemed as if his blood would burst, he emptied into her at the same time she shuddered and came over him.

You’re beautiful, Gavin proclaimed after catching his breath. Maybe even too gorgeous, too perfect. Sometimes I just want to eat you alive.

Maybe someday I’ll let you. Laughing, she slid from beneath him so he could stretch along the bed. Now just relax while I get dinner ready. I’ll call you when I have everything prepared.

Going over to the wardrobe tube, Arianna slide open the door, took out and then donned her robe, a present from Gavin and made of real Chinese silk. Next she padded back to the kitchen while he rested, limp and sated. With a press of the buttons, she opened the thermo savers, her filets hot and steamy. She had never tasted real food until she came here, and her first time had almost ended in disaster, the food so wonderful and filling that it upset her system so much so that she thought she would die—even though she would do so in ecstasy. Now she knew how to manage and balance her choices so she gained nutrition and not fat.

Besides the bacon-wrapped pineapple spears for garnishment, she had prepared baby new potatoes with herbs and steamed asparagus tips. To compliment the meal Arianna chose a Pinot Passions wine, followed by a lighter Moscato to go with their strawberry parfait desserts. Even at this time of day Gavin enjoyed a good glass of wine. He also maintained a well-stocked wine vault, his great passion to purchase and collect fine vintages. Of course, he could afford to do so, and he always had ready cash to buy what he wanted. He knew a vendor who gladly catered to his needs without asking outrageous black market prices. Thus every Tuesday afternoon, Arianna would meet the gentleman and purchase what she thought looked and tasted the best, buying for a week’s worth of meals. Although she hated to go under ground to procure certain food items like real meat, she made it her duty to please her employer with gourmet food whenever possible. The black market offered many selections of choice items no longer available to the general public. Only a year ago, Arianna hadn’t heard of many of these culinary delights like strawberries and cream and asparagus with Hollandaise sauce. This job gave her the opportunity to taste such luxuries, even make them herself.

For today, she decided that should have a cozy, intimate dinner in the kitchen rather than the more formal dining room. She recited her musical choices to little blue audio cube. Gavin enjoyed the classics, from the traditional to the jazz-inspired, from Mozart to Miles Davis. The lyrical flow of symphonic music helped to stimulate his appetite as well as the rest of his senses. Now as she set the table with the everyday but still lovely glass plates with their Japanese artwork, she listened to Vivaldi’s Concerto for Violin in B Flat, donning a contented little smile as she allowed the music to indulge and inspire her.

But a few moments later Arianna thought she heard noises coming from the bedroom, a thump and perhaps a muffled moan. The sounds cut into her serenity and momentarily replaced the music. She assumed Gavin had risen and gone to take a shower, perhaps dropping something in the process. But suddenly, Arianna felt a cold chill run down her back. The silver reed centerpiece rustled in response, although the air remained still in here. Nonsense! Nothing could happen to spoil this beautiful setting, this lovely day. Shaking her head to dispel some silly, imaginary dread, Arianna went back to work.

Five minutes later, when Gavin failed to appear, she went back to fetch him for lunch. Surely he would be done with his shower by now. The bedroom seemed unusually dark, more so than she had programmed the graduated timer to dim. Reaching for the wall switch now, she turned it on and flooded the room with bright halogen light.

Arianna gasped and stumbled back when she spied Gavin lying across the bed. Blood oozed from the gash on top of head and stained the white shag rug beneath. The sight of so much red against white made her reel, dizzy and sick. But she knew she had to do something, and do it fast. Steadying herself along the dresser, she inched over to the telecam and held her hand to the screen to turn on the set. A slight breeze blew in from the open balcony doors, ruffling the full-length curtains of soft gauze. And yet Arianna noticed nothing more as she hit the emergency display. Within seconds a full screen image of a uniformed police officer appeared.

How can I help you? he asked in an officious but courteous tone, his gaze flicking up and down, registering his caller.

I…I…there’s been a murder, Arianna managed to get out.

A murder? Do you know the victim?

Yes, my employer, Mr. Gavin McAllister. He’s…been murdered.

The officer glanced down for a moment to look at his secondary component. I register your address as Elysian Towers, Unit B624. Is this correct?

Yes, that’s right.

And what is your full name and ID?

"It’s…Arianna Ravel, 462987355.

A squad will be right over.

Thank you.

In the meantime take a seat in the main living area and remain there. Don’t touch anything.

Yes, I understand.

Good. Now do you need someone to stay on the prompter with you until officers arrive?

No, no, that won’t be necessary.

Okay, we should be there in a few minutes. Hang tight.

Thank you.

The officer tuned out, leaving Arianna with a blank blue screen.

Chapter Two

The woman looked dead to me, dead for about six to eight hours.

In real time she had been an exotic dancer named Tora Goodlove—alias Jocelyn Mora—who had unceremoniously expired on her kitchen floor. First, I was amazed that an exotic dancer could make enough to afford an apartment like this—a bit tacky but clean and presentable—and live here all by herself without a roommate or two or three or four. Most spreads like this, be they a one bedroom or a studio flat, often contained up to twelve people. Needless to say, living space here around here remained scarce, so scarce that a lot of people went homeless and slept wherever a space looked promising. Whole tent cities had seemed to spring up overnight as well as car communes where people lived in their vehicles. But I digress…

According to the preliminary physio-neuro scan, Tora Goodlove died from heart failure, this diagnosis confirmed by the county coroner, Dr. Chaudburi. I still had a hard time picturing the scenario: Ms. Goodlove arriving home about two, pouring a glass of water from the distilled water bottle in the cooler, drinking it, and then keeling over dead on her kitchen floor, the empty glass still in her hand. But since I’m not a qualified forensics pathologist I had to go with Dr. Chaudburi’s diagnosis. Hopefully in the next day or two he would have a more detailed postmortem to deliver.

Now I just made cursory observations. Tora Goodlove possessed a leonine head of blue-black hair, no doubt dyed to make her look sultry and mysterious. Up close I noticed the little crow’s feet around her gray-green eyes and the double parenthesis around her mouth. She still wore her heavy make-up, including silver glitter eye shadow. The same type of glitter had been sprinkled along her arms, shoulders and on her breast bone. She wore something that looked like a sarong, its material of ebony chiffon and studded with silver grummets. The dress hugged her voluptuous curves and covered her ample bosom. I pegged her for about forty-one or two until I took a look at her identification card. her age had recorded as a mere 28. Huh.

I glanced at her feet next. Her spiky platform heels in snake skin had to be murder to walk in let alone allow for more vigorous movement, but as a strip tease dancer she probably sucked up the pain in order to ooze raw sex appeal. I wondered how much she made a night as men drooled and ogled while she performed some sort of exotic routine at a nightclub called The Midnight Lace Club. She probably shed the dress, leaving her thong intact since the law prohibited dancers from taking it all off. Of course, I had no intention of lifting the hem of her dress in order to check for underwear. Lap dancing seemed de rigeuer in these places as well, and if Tora Goodlove indulged in such she might have made a neat bundle. Her purse sat on the kitchen table and contained close to five hundred bucks. From tips? If so, it didn’t seem too shabby a way to make a living if you didn’t mind rubbing guys’ crotches and giving them hard-ons every night. I guess you could call it degradation by the dollar.

Still, Tora Goodlove probably lived a full life, not necessarily clean but steady. Anyone who made it to their forties had a good chance of living well into their fifties, sixties and maybe even seventies. Sure it doesn’t seem like much time to do what one wants to do to make a dent in the world, but after the H2N2 virus pandemic hit the world, mutated our genetic growth hormones, and literally cut longevity in half, we took what we could of life and tried to make it as meaningful as possible in our short time spans. In the meantime we prayed that medical science would soon find a cure to return the aging process to its normal run time, thus allowing us to live to a hundred years+ like they did in the old days.

Now whether Tora Goodlove had kin or not would be determined by the office drones back at the station. My job consisted of gleaning the facts and then producing an official disclaimer: natural, unattended death. Still, I couldn’t rid myself of the feeling that this lady had been quietly and efficiently murdered. Had anyone tested the liter bottle of water for traces of poison?

As I made note of the possibility my wrist scam bleeped into life, and I knew instinctively that it had to be my squad boss, Keefe Bender, or just Bender as we affectionately call him. I slipped off to the side so I could talk in peace. Sure enough, the big beefy face of my captain took up the little screen.

Cadye, he began using my Christian name, I have a case here, a very important case, that needs all of our attention and that includes you. But I can’t say anything more until you come to my office. I need you here pronto. How soon can you get here?

Given the traffic flow from the east side of town where I now stood and then over to the downtown area would probably give me an estimated arrival time of approximately thirty to forty minutes. When I told the captain this he merely grimaced but had to accept the inevitable.

What about this present case, sir? I asked. It’s the unattended death of the dancer.

Hand it over— he commanded, —to Sergeant Farah. She can take it from there. Besides it’s all cut and dry, right?

Right. So, I’ll see you in about forty.

Make it thirty, detective. Twenty-five if you can hustle over here for the beer I’ll buy you later.

I’ll try. Signing off, I glanced around the knot of techs in search of the smaller, slimmer body belonging to Libby Farah. I found her scribbling notes with her stylus on her screen pad, a somewhat old-fashioned but still viable method of information gathering.

When I walked her way she glanced up and blinked at me with oblique brown eyes. Libby is the only person I know who has tight kinky hair the color of raw honey, a face packed with exotic features and a feisty little body, all thanks to the genetic coupling of her black, brown and white ancestors. I can’t quite describe her skin color, but it’s somewhere in the vicinity of light mocha with a patina of cream on top.

I handed her my portable recorder with my verbal report. Here you go, Farah. The captain picked you for this gig after calling me in. So have fun.

She actually smiled. Oh, thanks. I’ll do my best.

You really shouldn’t bother. This looks fairly cut and dry. I, too, at one time had been a novice cop who took every case so seriously that I worked it every which way until I exhausted my time and energy and still had nothing to show for my efforts and frustration. Yet maybe a fresh perspective now and again would prove beneficial; and besides, I felt that Tora deserved a little more of our attention.

I’m not so sure, Libby countered with a punctilious look. I plan to take it slow and careful, go over all the facts. For instance this— Her gaze settled on the coffee table where one of the techs had unfolded a pouch on top. We were now looking at some drug paraphernalia, clean and neatly arranged, and probably used for shooting Nuance, the newest in the line of synthetic drugs. I hadn’t remembered seeing any track marks on Tora’s arms, but a lot of users opted for other body parts, some even going so far as to pump the drug right under the rib cage and close to the heart for an ultimate high. Now I heard came in liquid suspension form, so it was just as easy to