Utho Gan was not a good actor, nor was he exceptionally bright or particularly charismatic. He easily folded under pressure, and during any other point in human history he would have made a lousy freedom fighter, however during the Unified Earth Era of Leadership he had a characteristic that made him an asset to the American Underground…
…He was a pervert.
Utho walked toward the Maelstrom Café wearing an ill-fitting uniform. His eyes darted left and right, taking careful note of those around him.
“You! Stop!” A voice called.
Utho froze. He turned and saw a pair of Readers rushing in his direction, and instinctively began thinking of women… Breasts… The soft, silky touch of their skin, their supple warmth, the sweet smell of their passion-soaked bodies.
He fully expected to be hassled by the Readers, but they ran past him and stopped a burly looking man holding a briefcase.
“Thank God.” Utho sighed before he could stop himself.
He froze again. Ice ran through his veins. One of the Readers had heard him, and turned and gave him a probing look.
“Oh?” The Reader asked. “Got something to hide, do you?”
“N-No! I-I’m…” Utho sputtered.
“Against the wall!” The Reader said, pointing.
Utho immediately began thinking of women… In his mind’s eye he could see the elegant curves of a sex-starved minx as she arched her back in orgasmic pleasure. He could practically feel his fingers entering the warm womanhood of a moaning partner. He imagined her juices… The look, the feel, the taste.
He pressed himself against the wall.
He felt the Reader patting him down and imagined he was in the throngs of erotic role play.
“Clean.” The Reader said. “Turn around.”
Utho did as instructed, facing the Reader.
“You have the right to keep your thoughts to yourself.” The Reader said, droning off the automatic recitation in an overly familiar, bored voice. “You may maintain your own internal privacy. You have the right to refuse a Reading. Should you refuse, you will be held in custody for no more than a week as your external vitals are monitored and analyzed for antisocial sentiments. Do you consent to a Reading?”
Hot sex. Steamy sex. So warm. So soft, yet so hard. He had no other thoughts for anything else.
“Y-yes.” Utho stammered.
The Reader raised his Mentap Wand and pointed at the Utho’s forehead. A hologram appeared at its tip. At first it was foggy; little more than hues of white and pink, however as the wand adjusted to his mental landscape, the colors solidified into the rosy-pale hues of his last lover.
He thought about her. She was a bombshell in public, and doubly so in bed. He remembered squeezing her tight, imagined it, and saw it manifesting from the Reader’s wand. This visual feedback only allowed him to sink deeper into his thoughts. He felt her body against his, felt himself driving his pelvis against hers. He felt her ass cheeks in his hand and felt himself wrapping around her.
As it was deigned to do, the wand reflected his every memory and every thought and every fantasy and allowed the Reader to see whatever it was he visualized.
“Are you part of any government-recognized antisocial organization?” The Reader asked.
An ordinary rebel might’ve been betrayed by his own mind as he forcibly remembered clandestine meetings, but sex is a primal human desire, and the strength of Utho’s addiction overwhelmed any other thought he might’ve had. A small portion of his memory recalled these illegal meetings, of course, but a far greater piece of him ignored those higher-level thoughts and single-mindedly focused on women.
Women, women, women.
The look of them. The smell of them. The feel and taste and warmth…
…And all of this appeared at the end of the Reader’s wand. He grimaced.
“On your way.” The Reader growled, withdrawing the wand and using it to wave Utho along.
Utho gave a small, timid nod, then continued to the Maelstrom Café. His uncomfortable uniform allowed him to pass behind the counter without rousing suspicion from the patrons, and he navigated to a secret storage room in the basement. Inside, he found a person wearing a similar outfit mopping the floor. The man looked up at Utho.
“We’re getting low on sugar.” The man said.
Utho momentarily put his desires on hold and recalled the response he’d been forced to memorize.
“You can try using creamer… Or maybe even peppermint.” Utho answered.
The man gave him a knowing nod. “Any news?
“The delivery will be at the Red Site on the 5th.” Utho replied. “They want you to be wearing your Autumn Gear.”
The man gave another knowing nod. “Tell them that the Arborists will be moving to the Music Studio.”
This time it was Utho who nodded. He wasn’t sure what the codewords meant, but then, it wasn’t his job to. He wasn’t a planner or a strategist or an organizer… He was a courier, a messenger…
A pervert.