Sisterly Duties

"You okay, boss?" Harold asked as they passed each other in the aisle. "You took a while, and to be honest... you look like you've seen a ghost."

"Huh?" Spunk asked distractedly. His mind had been back on Old Earth, still mourning his lost childhood.

"Low blood sugar?" Harold asked. Concern ruffled his face. Spunk shook his head.

"I'll tell you later. Did you help that couple out?"

"Oh, yes." Harold said. "They were very excited to..." His voice was cut off by a screech of static filling Spunk's ears. He winced.

Harold's mouth was still moving, so Spunk assumed that he was the only one hearing the god-awful buzzing. His eyes scanned behind Harold to see if he could spot the ghost. The buzz faded as Harold finished. Spunk saw nothing.

"... I think they'll be back for another in a week." He said proudly. "They were very impressed."

"Cool, cool." Spunk said amicably.

"You don't look so good, Peter. Here. Give me the shovel. Why don't you go rest at home for a little while? The shop is quiet. I'll deal with it." He held his hand out, and Spunk knew that saying no was not an option. As if it weighed a hundred pounds, he relinquished his hold on the shovel.

"Use gloves." He advised. "And bag it. I think we'll have to call the health department to, uh... dispose of it."

Harold nodded somberly. "I'll have Amalyn get you if something big comes up. Go get some lunch. Take a nap."

Spunk nodded and headed towards the front door. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he worried that he might be going legitimately crazy. The world seemed extra sparkly and that buzzing noise had given him an instant migraine.

Seeing the bright, white arid landscape outside he decided that a fresh air adventure might be just the cure he needed. Ghosts couldn't haunt in broad daylight, could they? He opened the door and stepped into the dry-heat oven that was the planet's midday surface temperature. He noticed his hands had been cold, and now they were weirdly sweating, as confused by the temperature change as his brain was.

He squinted towards the parking lot, surprised to see the man and woman with their sign still standing proudly. In this heat, even. He felt respect swell for them. He might not agree with them on literally anything, but they certainly had courage. Or idiocy. Or both.

-410 DAY5-

As he turned to walk around the shop to his apartment, he noticed movement from the couple. He wondered briefly if they were planning to take him up on his offer of a bathroom from the morning. Couldn't have them going into the shop, could you? That would be too easy. Spunk thought bitterly to himself. The woman was moving slowly, tentatively towards him. He kept walking, pretending not to notice. He would make her work for it, at least.

I'm still pretty shaken up by this weird ghost demon thing. He admitted to himself. He felt like he hadn't eaten in a day, and he was sure that his skin was paler than its normal sun-kissed appearance. He needed a nice, long rest with his legs up. And a whiskey. Whiskey could fix a lot of things.

He touched the handprint sensor on the door and it slid open in front of him. The lights turned on, and he knew, if even for but a moment, he was safe. He rubbed his eyes ferociously, and stretched before sliding his shoes off and placing them on the mat beside the door.

It was a quaint little apartment, nestled behind the store as an afterthought because the closest houses to the business district were a half hour commute away. It, of course, had been there for the previous owner. But Spunk had made some significant upgrades.

For one, the place had been all manual before he got there. Now, Amalyn was hooked in and she could connect him to the store at a moment's notice if needed. He was still in the shop pretty much all the time, but it was nice to fantasize about a day off, or even a longer staycation with the store operating just on the other side of his wall.

He saw a shadow out of the corner of his eye and his ghost-primed self shuddered before remembering the woman.

"Come on in." He said warmly. "What can I do for you?"

The shy woman stepped near the threshold, but hesitated. She wore a floral print, knee length dress with an old-timey bonnet across her neatly wrapped hairbun. Her round glasses were small but framed her face -- what he could see of it -- nicely.

"Come on, now." He chided. "Don't let all the cool air out." He gestured welcomingly to the woman, who took a deep breath and crossed the threshold with one dainty foot, and then the other. Now that she was away from the man, she seemed young. Much too young to have two children.

"Hello." She said shyly. Quietly. A mouse would have been louder. "Might I use your bathroom? The boys are napping and daddy said it would be okay as long as I was quick about it."

"Sure, uh... right down that hall." He pointed. He was exceedingly confused. He slowly pieced it together. Daddy. She wasn't his wife. She was his daughter. And the boys -- they must be his sons. Or, god forbid, her sons. But she couldn't be more than a year or two past twenty-five herself.

He watched as she walked nervously down the hall, her hands up at her chest like she was ready at any moment to defend herself from his devious, sex fueled attack. It stung a little. Her mistrust of him. But if that's how she was raised, he couldn't envision any other way for her to act. How little of the world had she been exposed to? Bathrooms in remote locations? Unable to interact with her peers? He felt incredibly disgusted with her father, and sorrowful for her own, stunted youth.

The toilet flushed, and he heard the hand washing station go off. At least she was clean. Not wanting to be caught staring down the hall and waiting for her, he hurried into his kitchen and pulled out the bottle of Old Earth whiskey he kept in the back of his oak framed pantry.

He pulled out one of his two ornate snifters that he reserved for special occasions. Today had certainly been one of those days. Harboring a devilish thought, he pulled out the other as well. He heard the door open down the hall.

He busied himself, gathering ice and unscrewing the bottle. The girl walked down the hallway and stood in the doorway of his kitchen, watching him.

"Thank you very much." She said, barely a step above the noise of the ice clinking in the glasses. "I'll be off now."

"Hang on a sec." He said, pouring the first glass. "Do you need any food or drink? I've got two glasses here. How old are you?"

She blushed at the question and looked down at her feet. "Nineteen, sir. I should really get back."

"Have you ever had Old Earth Jim Beam?" He asked. He poured the second glass. He would happily enjoy it if she didn't.

"Sorry, no. What's that?" She asked, wholly oblivious. She didn't even recognize the name of the spirit?

"It's whiskey. Do you know what whiskey is?" He asked, never before imagining that question would issue forth from his mouth. "It's got the bite of your sacred wine, but more of a... deep, savory taste." He didn't let her answer, knowing that even if she knew what whiskey was, it had never before passed her lips. "Would you like a sip? This is one of the older bottles available. From Old Earth."

"Oh, I..." She stammered. She wrung her hands together like she was nervously awaiting a teacher's reproach. He supposed, in a way, that she was. "I couldn't, thank you. Daddy doesn't let us drink the devil's liquor. He says it's the fastest way to hell."

"I understand." Spunk said somberly. "But how about this. I'm just going to leave this glass here -- no, don't leave yet." He said as she began backing out of the kitchen doorway.

"I need to pee, myself. So I'm going to just go to the bathroom before you go. And then when I get back, I'll enjoy a whiskey and whatever's left of this glass, here." He motioned to the glass closer to her. "And then you can take off back to your family. And." He continued before she could protest. "You can say that you were telling me about the history of your... religion... and that's why it took you so long. So you're covered there. What flavor of zealot are you again?"

"We're Lightbringers of the New Hope." She said, almost automatically. She looked uncertainly at the glass.

"Okay, well. Let me past you here..." He paused, "Hey, what's your name again? I'm Spunk. Or you can call me Peter."

"Molly." She said. Her eyes were fixed on the front door and he knew he had put her in a bind. But he knew her family's type, and he couldn't help but push her boundaries just a little. It would do her good. Not that he was in any true place to decide her fate. He felt a twinge of guilt.

"Just let me use the restroom real quick, and you can be on your way." He promised. Spunk left her alone with her thoughts.

What would daddy say? Molly thought as she eyed the glass in front of her, listening to the bathroom door shut. This man - Peter - meant no harm. Even if he was a bit odd. But he is the unsaved. The temptor. The enemy. Her brain protested as her body reached for the glass. Just a sniff. She promised herself as her shaking hand raised it to her face. A sniff before daddy marries me off to the next Lightbringer we come across.

The aroma was deep and earthy. It left her nose feeling oddly moist. It smelled good. It smelled of leather and oak and fire and forbidden fruits. She raised the glass to her lips, as if in a trance.

Just a taste. She found herself repeating. I'll spit it out. It won't even touch my throat. The glass tipped back before her brain could protest and the salty, dark liquid flooded into her mouth. It tasted as it smelled. Of leather. And oak. And fire. And forbidden fruits. But mostly fire. The tiny sip dissolved into her mouth and she coughed as her eyes watered.

Stronger than the temple wine. She blinked furiously, trying to get the alcohol burn out of her system. Part of her wanted an actual taste, but she knew her time of misbehavior, of deeds with no one watching, was soon over. She could hear the water running, and Peter must be washing his hands.

It was time to return to the deathly inferno outside with her brash father, simple siblings, and the memory of her dead mother. She set the glass down. It clattered against the marble countertop as she heard the bathroom door open. Nearly trembling, she fought back a blush. She stepped away from the liquor as though she had been patiently waiting for Peter to come back to say her farewells. As though she hadn't just disobeyed a thousand orders from the holy books and her parents. As if she hadn't just broken her oaths.

She felt the shame start to well up inside and she fought it. A taste hurts no one. This new, bold, oaken, leathery, fiery, rebellious teenager insisted to her swollen, scared, sheltered self. No one will know. She took a breath as her brain rebelled. Your mother would roll over in her grave.

"Thank you for your hospitality." Molly greeted Spunk as he strode down the hallway. "I really must be going." She could feel her hands sweating as she rubbed them together nervously. She was really, really not cut out for misbehaving.

"Anytime, Molly." His bright, warm brown eyes were entirely sincere and he smiled at her. Not a hint of predatory instinct or shame-filled rage filled his eyes. They were ordinary, and friendly, and completely focused on her. She felt her heart flutter.

"My door is open any time of day or night. If you ever want to ... explore your options. The universe is a very large place, and Lightbringers are not the center of it." He was trying to be gentle, but she felt her religious pride sting at the seed he was planting.

He wants you for himself. The sheltered girl thought. He wants a good virgin wife. That's all. He'll tempt you into heathendom and drag you down into the pits of hell for a good lay. He owns a sex shop, for fuck's sake, Molly. What's gotten into you?

The voice in her head clambered for her attention as she smiled at him. "Goodbye, Peter. Thank you again." She rushed down the hallway and out the door. He watched her go and smiled. He didn't know if he would ever see her again - her father might decide to move on. But he knew he had made an impression.

STIs

06 - STIs

Spunk was surprised to see the protestors out, already setting up their little post in the parking lot as he emerged from his apartment in late morning to open up the shop. He had figured after his little whiskey stunt, the girl -- Molly -- would have convinced her father to move on.

He gave them a friendly wave as h walked by. They were just outside of shouting distance, and he didn't feel like having a conversation with them anyway. They could come to him.

What he did not expect to see was a black jacket-clad woman standing outside the glass doors of his shop, arms crossed and staring him down like he was the worst beast to ever walk this particular planet. He wasn't sure who had shit in her morning meal, but he didn't want to be the recipient of her terrorism.

He honestly wasn't sure how someone's frown could be that fierce. He mustered a smile as he approached the foul woman.

"Hello!" He said warmly as the keys jingled out of his pocket. He gave her a quick glance before he tried the door. He didn't see a badge, but that didn't mean anything. Plenty of interstellar cops didn't need obnoxious identification. And his shop was a favorite of the region's law enforcement.

"What can I help you with?" He asked as he turned the key in the slot. "We aren't open for another hour or so. There's a ... fueling station about three miles back? If you want to come back then."

"My name is Marcie Grosun." She stated, her eyebrows furrowed like she was about to slap him across the face.. Even her voice was fierce. "I am the S-T-I for this system and --"

"Sorry, you're the sexually transmitted infection for this system?" He tried cracking the obvious joke. He saw at once that it fell flat.

"S - T - I." She repeated. "Sex toy inspector."

He wasn't sure how he -- or she for that matter -- kept a straight face. Well, nearly a straight face. The corners of his mouth quirked up, but he just nodded sagely and let her continue to speak as he pushed the door open.

"There have been reports of counterfeit products being sold in your shop." She said haughtily, as if knowing already that he was guilty of the crime. "Products from banned regions, made cruelly with resources from ravaged planets."

"Oh, dear. That is quite an accusation." Spunk said, as he felt the anger rise in his belly. This happened, in one form or another, every few months to the shop. He usually blamed the missionaries, but he supposed it could also be his neighbors. "I can assure you that my suppliers are humane-certified with the STP service, and would be happy to provide documentation upon request." He stepped across the threshold.

"In any case," He continued, "As is my right, I'm going to request that you post your week's notice and make an appointment for any official business. You are welcome inside in an hour, when the shop opens, as a customer only."

"Excuse me?" Her eyes about bulged out of their sockets. "You do realize that denying me access..."

"Is my universal given right as a citizen of this system?" He cut her off. "Yes, yes I do. You will not," his voice grew deep as some of the anger leaked out, "bully me into allowing you to take shortcuts with your job. You know the rules. Follow them."

"This is..." Her voice was soft, and he could immediately tell that she was trying an alternate tactic. "... highly unusual." Was she going for sexy? Innocuous? He couldn't tell. It wasn't working. "Please just let me check a few of your items, and I'll be on my way."

"I will not be the subject of some witch hunt." He said curtly. "Not from missionaries. Not from my neighbors. And not from anyone. So, you may leave your notarized declaration of intent to inspect taped to my front door, and I will be happy to follow up with you in the appropriate time window to schedule an inspection time." He nodded at her. "And if you -- as a citizen -- would like to visit the shop, we'll be open soon. If you'll excuse me?"

--714eod6--

He walked through the door and closed it behind him as her eyes nearly bulged right out of their sockets. Even her hair seemed flabbergasted with him. He grinned through the glass as he clicked the deadbolt back into place.

The thought of dealing with potential fines -- if that inspector actually found something -- was giving Spunk the start of a migraine. He trusted his suppliers, but if this was a legitimate thing, it could be costly for the business. We're barely making a profit right now, he admitted to himself as he logged into the computer.

"Good morning, Peter!" Amalyn's warm voice boomed out from the surround sound speakers hung around the walls. He gave a quick glance towards the front door, but couldn't tell if the inspector had gone back to her vehicle yet. She was probably determined enough to sit outside that door in the morning heat and wait until the shop opened to try again.

"Amalyn, reduce your volume by fifty percent." He said. "And pull up the front door camera for me."

"Sure thing, Peter." The computer pulled up the front door camera. The woman was gone. He smiled. Luck was on his side.

Granted, she was probably headed back to wherever she had come from, or the nearest print shop, to print an official notice and tack it onto his door like Martin Luther did with his 95 Theses back on Old Earth centuries ago.

"Turn off the camera feed, Amalyn. Thank you." He said and waited for the camera window to disappear on his monitor. He could've clicked the little X button, but that would be less fun. Why even make super intelligent computers if you didn't use them?

Spunk pulled up his supplier list and gave it a quick glance. Were any of his suppliers located centrally to colony planets where rights were potentially being infringed upon?

"Amalyn..." He trailed off, thinking of how to word the question in a way that would produce accurate results. "Can you search the news feeds for any mention of workers rights violations, indigenous rights violations, or counterfeit sex toys?"

"Right away, Peter." A few windows flashed open onto his monitor, nearly instantaneously. He mentally patted himself on the back for building such a smart computer. "Would you like me to read the headlines to you?"

"No, thank you." He responded, "Just put them on the screen."

He took a look at the results. Nothing spectacular stood out to him. His suppliers were located in the Beta Onias and the Iota Mizar systems, but both had been explored thoroughly and were civilized places. If he had counterfeit product in his shop, it wasn't an issue that he'd be able to detect. It'd be an issue with one of his suppliers.

"Amalyn..." He said, "Can you search for news articles about each of my suppliers?" There was only a list of about ten.

"Right away, Peter." More windows popped up on the screen. "Would you like me to read the headlines to you?" She asked.

"No, thank you." He responded, glancing at the results that were popping up on his screen. Vulval Glitter had the most hits. It seemed that they were the target of boycotts. Not for counterfeit products, but for their eccentric and idiotic CEO, who was the grandchild of the founder. Their latest foray was into the world of automatically generated erotica, and the majority of recent articles were excerpting the books and picking them apart as if they were some sort of literary masterpiece.

The only other hit on the list was for Infinite Nipples. The chest-exclusive lingerie supplier had a single article calling them out for using pleather manufactured on Zatalden, a planet on the very edge of Beta Onias which was, surprisingly, newly colonized. But the primary angry voices came from PETA, that ancient organization from Old Earth that complained about literally every product from living beings.

He typed Zatalden pleather into the search engine, but nothing about the process or materials came up. How the pleather was made for the chest harnesses would remain a mystery. But now, at least, he had a place to start looking.

But Zatalden pleather isn't counterfeiting. His brain argued with him as he left the computer to go stare at the assortment of nipple rings, chains, and harnesses on the back wall. Are you missing something?

"Amalyn." He said as he approached the wall of nipple accessories. "Can you run the name of every product we sell through the search engine with the key word 'counterfeit' and save the results for me to look through later?"

"That operation will take about five minutes, and I will not be able to respond to you during that time, Peter. Would you like me to go ahead and start?" Amalyn's voice asked from all around him.

"Yes, please do." Spunk said. He crouched next to the chest harnesses produced by Infinite Nipples. He pulled one off the hook to examine the packaging.

The cardboard was painted black with bright pink, boxy letters declaring the brand name. The chest harness hung loosely from its cardboard cage, a mix of mesh strapping, metal rings, and a big pleather X across the front and back alike. It felt like pleather in his hands. It smelled like pleather to his nose. He flipped the packaging around to check its origin statement.

"Made on Grazilka with Zatalden pleather, Dishe strapping, and Va'azuun metal." The package read. All of those seemed to fit in with what Infinite Nipples was declaring elsewhere. It couldn't be these products that were getting the inspector in a tizzy.

Maybe it was that zealot outside. His brain thought. You took advantage of his daughter, and now he's trying to exact his revenge. All claims must be investigated, right?

He carefully hung the harness on the hook and stood back up. Blood rushed to his head and he wavered for a minute, feeling himself grow cold. His stomach fell to his knees. Fuck. He thought. That goddamn blue thing is back.

A screeching noise hit his ears this time and he reached up instinctively to cover them, knowing full well that the noise was inside his head and he could do nothing. It faded in a few seconds. His eyes opened -- he hadn't realized that he had closed them -- and before him was a clearer image of the lizard-man in his trench coat.

As a mostly opaque being, the lizard-man wore a scowl in the afterlife that really didn't suit him at all. Spunk felt a shiver of fear run through him. I thought it was a one off event. The thought ran through his head. I figured... no body, no ghost. After all, they hadn't dumped the remains, per say -- but they did remove it to the shed behind the parking lot until it could be disposed of properly.

"What can I do for you?" Spunk tried to muster a smile, but it probably appeared more ghastly than the ghost himself. That migraine that was starting when he had entered the store was full blown now.

"I am Ardass, king killer!" The ghost's voice boomed at him. It was a much different personality than what he had experienced the day before. Confident. Loud. Vengeful? Had Spunk wronged this lizard-man in some way and now it was coming to exact its revenge?

"Ok..." Spunk wasn't really sure how to respond to the ghost. The ghost's reptilian eyes blinked at him, shrinking down to little slits before opening back up. The anger seemed to fade.

"I need your help." Its voice sounded broken now. The anger was all gone. The apparition even seemed to shrink. Spunk briefly wondered what this would look like on the camera feed, but remembered that Amalyn was down. Of course she was. Had the ghost waited...? It didn't matter.

"Ok..." Spunk prompted the ghost, but it didn't seem to get the hint. He used more words. "How can I help you, Ardass, king killer?"

--2053day7--

Spunk felt his vision begin to blur at the edges and wondered if the ghost... thing could only communicate by feeling.

"Wait a sec, wait a sec." He called out as his vision turned black. "Calm the fuck down." He wasn't sure if it was working, but he felt like the blackness didn't increase. "You need to use your words. Not that freaky shit you did to me yesterday. So take a deep breath, or whatever version of that there is in the form you are, and try using words."

Spunk felt himself hoping that it would work. The last stunt that this thing pulled on him had left him feeling dazed for hours afterwards. He could barely close the shop come time.

"I..." The ghost's voice sounded strained. "Need your help..." The voice sounded quiet and Spunk realized too late that it was quiet because of the ringing in his ears. His back ached, and his vision closed its tunnels. His last parting thought was to land on his ass and not his face.

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