The Impressionist

Chapter 4

Jen walked back into the main terminal, scanning the room to get ideas about where to start. She saw the boy that had run into her across the crowded room. The man, his boss, was right behind him talking to a local grocer that she recognized from her dossier about this colony. The grocer was a squeaky rat, who sold information at high prices. She saw them exchange something, credits probably.

They were still a good distance from her, yet the man looked up as if he knew she was watching him. He smiled and nodded in her direction. He then turned back to the grocer. D*mn. Maybe he was a guard. He could even be asking about her, or her alter ego, Jean.

Jen decided to make herself scarce. She took off, making her way toward the port bar on the other side of the complex. She made a wide arc to keep as much distance between her and her trouble makers as she could. Maybe she could convince some drunken first mate to sneak her aboard a transport. It didn’t even have to be toward Earth. Even the most remote colony was sounding pretty good right now, as long as it was off this particular rock. Then, all she would have to do, is find a Control contact, get another mask made, an I.D., and get access to her credits. Then she would be able to get around more easily.

She heard the music pouring from the dimly lit bar. It was going to be loud in there. At least no one would be able to overhear any conversations she might have. As far as she could tell, this was her best option. Who knew how long the colony would be on the lookout for her. This all had to be connected to Lissa’s disappearance. Jen was beginning to realize that it had been a huge mistake to pretend to be Lissa’s “sister.” Jen had inadvertently laid a clear trail, connecting Lissa to current self. Well, a change was in order.

She slipped into a dark corner, between some crates from a recent deliver to the bar. She looked around to make sure no one could see her. Then, grabbing the sleek wig from her bag, Jen flipped it onto her head, smoothing the dark hair into place. She automatically tucked in the loose strands of her own hair peeking through. She didn’t usually reuse a wig more than once without replacing the plasti-skin attached to the outer edge. She pressed and smoothed the now tattered edges to her forehead and then all around the rim of the wig. The remnants of plasti-skin started to react, matching her skin color and forming a bond, blending in, almost invisible. Jen said a silent prayer that it would hold.

Next, she popped out the brown contact lenses, revealing her own startling violet-blue eyes. She rummaged through her bag, grabbing the make-up items and a small mirror that she had “liberated” from Alara. Then, as Mac would say, she “floozied herself up,” with the cosmetics… bright lipstick, smokey eye, thick mascara and sharp cheekbones. She unbuttoned the top two buttons on her tunic, it couldn’t hurt. She mussed her shoulder length hair. Checking one last time in the mirror before tucking it away, a new girl walked out from behind the crates stacked near the wall. She slowed herself down, schooling her muscles into her new persona. She projected her new self, calm, sexy, husky-voiced and confident. Her appearance would only get her halfway there, she knew. The kind of attention that she was looking for needed the entire package, the walk, the bold eye contact, the gestures, and the voice.

As she entered the bar, she took inventory of the men and women in flight crew uniforms. She took note of the ones who looked her way. Ignoring them for now as part of her game, she walked to an unoccupied table in the back of the bar.

She chose a seat that gave her a full view of the room. She sat down slowly, seductively, keeping her movements in step with her chosen character. But on the inside, her wheels were turning quickly, sizing up the occupants of each table. She drew a finger in circle on the table as if it was an absent-minded movement. She looked up as the bartender placed the first drink on a coaster in front of her. It was a fruity, sweet concoction. The bartender leered at her and nodded in the direction of her host.

He was a man in his fifth decade, a full head of hair, and pilot stripes on his sleeves. Yes, she thought, this was looking promising. At least he wasn’t entirely repulsive, even if he was a little too old for her taste. She ran her finger across the rim of the glass, picking up some of the sugar there, to lick the sweet grains off of her finger.

He was looking at her and furiously typing something into his communication pad. She kept her gaze friendly as she lifted the glass to her lips. Wow! The fruit juice was just there for color, she smiled tightly to cover her reaction to the very strong drink that the pilot had sent to her. As it burned its way down her throat, she lifted the glass to him in a silent salute. Encouraged and emboldened by her approval, he slipped his device into a pocket and stood up exposing a bit of a pot belly and swaggered over to her table.

“You were looking lonely sitting over here by yourself, beautiful girl. May I join you?”

“Mmm,” she purred, pretending to enjoy her drink, “I just got here. How could you tell that I was lonely?” She bit her lip and stared at him as if his answer would make her or crush her.

He sat down opposite of her. “I have a gift for knowing how a woman feels.” He called the bartender over for a second round.

“But… I’m not even halfway done this first drink,” Jen protested.

“It looks like you’re going to have to do something about that,” he said, using a finger to push the glass a little closer to Jen. He nodded to the bartender who disappeared to get the drinks.

A tall, athletic woman walked up casually and sat down next to the pilot. She was wearing a tunic that sported a first mate’s crest. Her hair was buzzed so close to her scalp that Jen couldn’t even tell what shade it was.

“Aw, lay off, Andrew,” she said in an authoritative tone. “You don’t have time to be doin’ what I think you’re doin’. You heard Connor. He said nineteen hundred hours, so move your tail outta here.”

He was visibly annoyed and started to say something, but she tapped her first mate’s badge and that worked as some sort of signal for him to clear out. He stood up and walked away without so much as a second glance at Jen. She wasn’t sure if she should be insulted or amused.

The woman regarded Jen with a smirk on her face, which broke into a smile. “Sorry,” she said. It sounded like she was choking back a laugh. “I owed him that, big time, but it wasn’t quite fair to you. Believe me, I was doing you a huge favor.” The woman was now looking at her a little too closely. She leaned in an asked, “tell me, what are you doing here.”

Jen tensed. She didn’t know what to say. She looked at the drink in her hand and back up at the woman, “I was… thirsty?”

The was a beat of silence then Jen continued, “I guess I owe you a thank you... maybe? When he got to the table, he was a little older than I thought he would be,” Jen said trying to get back the conversation back under her control.

“I would hardly call him your type, anyway… at any age,” she laughed. She put her hand out in introduction. “My name is Edin, but everyone just calls me Ed. What did you say your name was?”

“Oh, well… my name is… it’s…” She sat there for a split second with her jaw slack as she struggled with her new identity. She was used to having her entire character downloaded on a memory chip directly into her mind. A solid identity was the core of being an impressionist. She fought saying the names that came most easily, Alana first, then Jean, even Lissa popped into her head, but she knew that it wouldn’t be good to be connected to any of those names at the moment.

“Are you okay?” The woman was looking at her with narrowed eyes again.

Breathe deep, think fast, just spit it out. “My name is Jen,” she finally said when another name refused to come to her. She couldn’t believe it! She had never used her real name outside of the offices of Control before.

“Of course,” Edin said, c*****g her head to one side with a smirk, “Jen.”

Oh, this is rich, thought Jen. She doesn’t believe me. It was almost comical. She had used her real name and made it sound made up. She was mentally rolling her eyes at herself.

Edin move toward her again and said in her ear, “Don’t worry… “Jen.” I know who you really are. And I am going to help you.”

Jen’s heart started beating hard as adrenaline hit her system. “Know me? You’re here to help me?” she repeated worriedly. This is what must have happened to Lissa. Jen stood up, ready to land a kick and run for it, when she was grabbed from behind. She turned her neck to see Andrew behind her. Giving him an elbow to the ribs to get him to release her, she boxed his ears. Before she could land the next blow, she felt the patch being slapped on her neck. D*mn, she shouldn’t have turned her back on Edin, she was obviously the more dangerous one. Jen fought to stay awake, but she was a goner. Her last thought was that this was how a mark must feel when she grabs them for a switch.