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Field Work
The grainy, anemic sounds of Whitney Houston’s “I Want to Dance with Somebody” pulsed in Bril’s auditory implant as they worked. The xenosapien squinted into the casing of the LCD display, making the final hardwire connections of the security camera. They shut the clear case with a satisfied click and looked around.
The honeymoon suite was immaculate. A dozen real bio-roses bloomed in the vase on the marble table by the window, the water luminescent from the neon signs outside. Two chairs framed the table, expectant. The king-size bed was majestic: creamy white linens and a silk duvet piled high with old-school down pillows that were arranged just so.
Bril twitched, containing their desire to touch the duvet, to lie on the bed and pretend they were one-half of the couple they were about to observe. As if on cue, “I Think We’re Alone Now” by Tiffany started playing. The auditory implant was a new purchase, and they hadn’t been certain that the technology would interface with their xenosapien physiology. It seemed that the intuitive bioware was in perfect working order, sensing Bril’s mood and matching their music tastes accordingly. The audio quality was tinny; that was an easy fix.
The music was interrupted by Aro’s smooth voice.
“You’re taking forever, sib.”
