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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