The Unincorporated Man (49 page)

In more relevant news, the Eliminationist Party was granted a concession that shows its increasing strength in governmental matters. The speaker of the assembly proposed that the entire planet of Venus be turned into a government-free zone when it’s ready for settlement. This would give the Eliminationists the large area they requested but put the issue on the back burner—as most experts agree it will take at least another century for Venus to be ready for human habitation.

—ALL THINGS POLITICAL SITE, NEURO #3432435

In the end Justin decided on something simple yet symbolic. He ordered it from a local shop, and it was delivered within hours to his apartment. Though Mardi Gras could be experienced systemwide, he’d decided to take it in from the event’s original birthplace. All that was left to do was to grab a t.o.p. to the Hotel Rex on Canal Street in downtown New Orleans. He planned to arrive in the late afternoon. It would be the start of the holiday and a way to get the full flavor of the insanity he’d been told to expect.

Justin was informed by sebastian that a t.o.p. was available to take him directly to his hotel should he so desire, but Justin declined. If this was to be the party of the people, then damned if he wasn’t going to mingle with the maniacs. “At least,” cautioned his worried avatar, “do some minor facial adjustment so you won’t be mobbed upon your arrival at the main terminal.” To this Justin agreed, especially when he determined that a fake nose and facial-hair growth would be about as simple as sticking on a rubber nose from a novelty shop. The distinct advantage of the simple disguises was that they were nano-based novelty items, which meant that the hair actually attached itself to the face, and the added epidermis of the nose did the same without interfering in any way with Justin’s nasal passages.

Though there was a private t.o.p. on the roof of the apartment he lived in, Justin chose to take his personal flyer to the NYC orport, and from there hop on a private t.o.p. to the Neville orport in New Orleans. It gave his new security detail conniptions, but that’s what he paid them for.

When he disembarked from the t.o.p. and started on his descent to the main terminal, he was so taken aback by the chaos before him he was almost tempted to turn around and head back to the safety of his New York City lair.

A Greek mythological god flew past him chasing an almost naked woman, who Justin could swear had two complete sets of voluminous breasts. The woman was laughing or Justin might have been tempted to… do what, he had no idea. He counted at least four sexual trysts occurring both on the ground and in the air. When he finally did manage to float down to the ground, he was so busy staring at the assortment of oddballs and exploits that he ran smack into a large blue spider with a strikingly human face.

“Tr-transbod?” was all Justin managed to stutter, shocked by the living, breathing creature in front of him.

“No,” the spider growled, scratching his nose with one of his legs, “this is how I always look. What, were you born yesterday?”

“Well, actually… ,” Justin began. But the spider cut him off, handing him a crystal disk. “Listen, bud. Big party every night at Schatzy’s on Bourbon Street.” The spider then moved on, and by the shrieks of delight and laughter that followed “it,” Justin realized that he’d just bumped into one of the best walking advertisements he’d ever seen.

He had to step over broken beer bottles and past a group of drunken men swaying in hula skirts, and sidestep an alligator-skinned couple holding alligator-skin bags. As he made his way out the exit he could have sworn he saw the spider talking to a cyclops.

“Alright, sebastian, you win,” he said, as he exited the orport. “Get me to the Hotel Rex ASAP.”

_______

There was no point in keeping his mask on. Seasoned paparrazi would have spotted him in a nanobeat, so he ditched it in the cab. The first thing he noticed as he entered the hotel was the hubbub of people and transbods hurriedly rushing to and fro. The next thing he noticed was the burgundy-colored marble floor spread across the entire lobby. In the center of the space were two hexagonal marble pillars with ornate wooden benches in the style of Louis XIV resting on either side. Large floral bouquets were in evidence everywhere. He looked over at the main desk and saw that it, too, was made from the same burgundy tile as the floor he was standing on. Behind the desk were three well-dressed workers, and behind them were what appeared to be three Botticelli paintings. Ironically, it wasn’t the Botticelli paintings that marked the hotel as überprestigious; it was the humans working in front of them. Only the most prominent hotels and restaurants would even attempt to use human labor during Mardi Gras. Except for police, courts, and medical centers, most of humanity was taking the week off—way off.

Justin ignored the head-turning his entrance had garnered and began to make his way to the desk. If he could find his room he’d at least be able to take a break from the overload of visual stimuli.

No luck. He was stopped in his tracks by one of the most erotic creatures he’d ever laid eyes on. Granted, he hadn’t seen that many, but this one was knock-dead stunning. Where most of the transbods he’d noticed seemed to content themselves with the merely outrageous, this woman, if what he was looking at could be called that, had clearly gone for more devilish attire.

She was tall, at least as tall as Justin, and her skin was deep auburn red. She had a very thick mane of long black hair that seemed to fall restlessly off her shoulders, cascading down onto a well-exposed bosom that was attempting to escape from a tight-fitting black leather top. Protruding from her forehead through the mass of hair was a pair of short, pointed ivory horns. Justin’s eyes followed her perfectly flat stomach to the black leather G-string patch she was wearing over her crotch. The strings on either side of the minuscule covering seemed to leap in perfect arches over her shapely hips. Her extraordinarily long legs were accentuated by a pair of thigh-high black leather boots resting precariously over six-inch stiletto heels. He also noticed that her arms and hands were covered in fingerless black leather gloves that went all the way up to her well-toned biceps. The face seemed oddly familiar, though it was hard to get past the jet-black eyes—no white showing whatsoever—black pouty lips, and dazzling white teeth. But the pièce de résistance was a set of large bat wings that emerged from the back of the creature’s upright shoulders. They were almost as large as the woman herself.

Justin was entranced.

He wasn’t the only one. The entire lobby seemed to stop and stare as the transbod made her way across the foyer. And it only took a second for Justin to realize that the demon was heading straight toward him. It was one of the few times in his lives that he was thankful his face was so easily recognized.

The woman quickly traversed the space between herself and Justin. As she approached, he could see that she had a slightly worried look on her face.

“You’re late,” she said.

Justin recognized the voice instantly, but his mind had trouble putting the sound to the image.

“Ne-Ne-Neela?” he stuttered.

Neela’s expression went from concerned den mother to that of a girl hoping her date liked the prom dress. She spread her wings out to their full radius and placed her hands squarely on her hips. “Do you like it?” she asked.

“Neela,” he answered, hardly believing this beautiful creature was his dear friend and confidante. “ ‘Like’ is not the word; ‘amazed’ is.” Then, “It’s all… real?”

Neela laughed, as a bit of the seductress demon returned. “Of course it’s real, Justin.”

She took his hand and placed it on her arm. “See,” she said, rubbing his hand slowly up and down her upper arm just above the rim where the black leather glove ended. “The color doesn’t come off.” She removed his hand from her arm and placed it on one of her horns, drawing Justin closer provocatively. “They don’t come off either… even this,” she said, as a long prehensile tail emerged from her backside, practically popping up between them, “doesn’t come off.” She saw by the look in Justin’s eyes that the tail had completely surprised him—as she’d intended.

Justin’s head was spinning and his heart was pounding. He was speechless, no longer because of what he was looking at but because of what he was feeling. He wanted this woman, and he wanted her now. He laughed inwardly as he realized he probably could have taken her—if she were willing—right there on the cold marble floor with nary an onlooker interested. Though they certainly would’ve been, he reasoned, had they any inkling as to her real identity.

But he’d had it pounded into him so many times about the dire consequences of such an action that he barely allowed himself time for the fantasy. Old Thaddeus’s admonitions had apparently done their job. Though he knew he wanted her, he also knew he’d never risk her career just to satisfy his carnal desires.

“Well, hello there!” came a cry from the far end of the lobby. It was Dr. Gillette. Of that Justin was sure. Where the voice was coming from he couldn’t tell amid the din.

He felt a tap on the shoulder.

Thank goodness
, thought Justin, needing time to sort out his feelings. While the good doctor offered respite from Neela, his outfit, too, did not. Except for a pair of sandals, Thaddeus was stark naked. But what did set him apart from most of the other hotel patrons, many of whom were, in fact, unclothed, was his exposed phallus. It was a good two feet long and as thick as a soda can. Justin’s first reaction was to laugh, but Dr. Gillette, misinterpreting his laugh, assured him that it was fully functional.

“Oh, that I believe, Thaddeus,” replied Justin. “I just can’t wait to see the woman who that,” he said, pointing down to the doctor’s giant organ with his eyebrows, “will fit into.”

“Don’t you worry about a thing, dear boy,” answered Thaddeus, with a devilish grin. Thaddeus finally seemed to notice Neela standing proudly next to his patient. The doctor’s appreciation of Neela’s transformation was noted not only in his eyes but also in his manhood. It now stood fully erect at what Justin guessed must have been two and a half feet.

“Thank you, Thaddeus,” Neela said, with obvious delight.

“Don’t mention it, dear. I must say they certainly did justice to your vision.”

“And your outfit… ,” she began to say.

Thaddeus cut her off. “I know, I know. Boooring. Well, what did you expect? Who has time?” He then apologized for keeping Neela’s secret from Justin.

On their way up to the room, via a very slow-moving, old-fashioned elevator, Neela explained to Justin why she’d recently been so unavailable. “First of all,” she explained, “I wanted to surprise you.”

Justin blushed. “Well, consider it a success,” he said, trying hard not to stare at every square inch of her.

In the space of two weeks Neela had had her hair, eye, and skin color changed and her pregrown wings, tail, and horns attached—the last part taking only two days to complete. The rest of the time was spent getting used to the new appendages and learning how to use them.

“I always wanted to go wild on Mardi Gras,” she said, “but I didn’t have the money until now. I’ve been dreaming about this costume since I was little. Most kids have some sort of crazy drawing they’ve held on to, hoping one day to strike it rich enough to bring it to fruition… . I guess I just got lucky.”

“Yeah,” laughed Justin. “You found me.”

“Oh, stop being so vain,” she teased. “Omad found you. I’m just reaping the benefits.”

Justin chuckled nervously.
Is she flirting with me?

“Ahh, yes,” interrupted Thaddeus, stopping in front of a brass-rimmed door. “Here’s my room. See you kids later.”

Justin and Neela walked down to the hallway’s end and arrived at a penthouse. Since the hotel was a nostalgic re-creation, the doors opened, and thus required Justin to put his palm on a pad located near the entryway. The reader checked his DNA and palm print, allowing him access. They both entered and were greeted with a beautiful master suite. There was, Justin could see, a single plantation bed in the center of the room. Two Louis XIV chairs were placed in front of the grand four-poster sleeper almost as if guarding it. The rest of the furniture was period, and the adjoining antechambers were just as exquisitely laid out. French doors led out onto a balcony that gave a fine view of the street and all the goings-on.

“Well, we’ve seen your room,” said Neela, “now let’s get out of here, because in case you haven’t noticed, there’s a party going on!”

Justin had to laugh. All he’d wanted to do was get into the room and out of the fracas, but now that he’d been entranced by the vixen currently occupying the body of Neela Harper, he nodded lamely. “Let me just get into my costume.”

“Sure thing,” she answered, hopping onto the bed and spreading her wings alluringly across the comforter.

Justin opened up his costume box. The outfit enclosed was a simple affair. Coarse tunic with sandals and a belt. Though the tunic went down to his knees, he decided to wear underwear. A decision made even easier after seeing in recent broadcasts where mediabots could go.

“Spartacus,” he explained, shrugging.

“Ahh, the symbolic outfit,” Neela said, nodding in support. “Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Neela,” he responded, “no outfit could possibly look good next to yours.”

She laughed.

“Anyways,” he continued, “Spartacus seemed like the perfect outfit. Had he remained a gladiator slave and mercenary performer for the Roman masses, he could’ve had all the riches and benefits that Roman society offered.”

“But he chose to rebel against the Romans and fight,” added Neela.

“Yes,” said Justin, “he chose to fight.”

“And die.”

“Been there, done that,” he joked. Then to reassure her, “Don’t worry, Neela, it’s just a symbol.”

She frowned. “You ready or what?”

“No,” he answered, “but that doesn’t matter. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready for what’s waiting for me out there.”

Their hotel was located between Decatur and Chartres streets, so they opted to head up Canal to Chartres. Once there they saw wrought-iron balconies filled with party revelers tossing jewels down to the partygoers below, as well as up to those floating above. The rain of trinkets, jewels, and knickknacks acted as a graceful frame of color to the spires of the St. Louis Cathedral, located farther down the avenue in the heart of the French Quarter.