Chapter 41 Alien Makeover, Eve
ALIEN MAKEOVER, EVE
I return to my quarters with Jin Kol's dismissive glance still burning in my memory. He'd looked right through me like I was background noise in my formal uniform while he focused on the spectacle of pets and power players.
"Damn it," I mutter, pulling up my reflection in the smart mirror. The uniform that once made me feel professional now works against me because Jin Kol is a sexist bastard.
Internal comms signals me. It’s Lira calling. I accept, still in the bathroom looking at my reflection.
"How did it go?" she asks without preamble.
"Not well. Tribune Jin Kol barely acknowledged my existence. I tried to discuss the genetic preservation protocols with him, and he actually turned his back on me, mid-sentence, to watch a pet demonstration."
"Ah." Her tone suggests this isn't surprising. "You need the dress."
"What dress?"
"The dress that makes men remember they're mortal. Meet me in fabrication. Level forty-seven."
The fabrication center is a marvel of technology. Walls lined with molecular printers, holographic design interfaces floating in mid-air, and fabric samples that shimmer with properties that shouldn't exist.
Lira stands before the main design console, her fingers dancing through holographic fabric swatches. "Strip," she commands.
"Excuse me?"
"The printers need exact measurements. And I mean exact, every curve and every angle. The dress I'm thinking of requires precision."
I hesitate, looking around. We are alone here. As I remove my uniform, Sister Agnes’ voice echoes in my mind: "Modesty is a woman's greatest armor." Not today, I think. Not in Hell.
The scanner bathes me in blue light, creating a perfect 3D model that appears on the display. Lira studies it with an artist's intensity. "You have beautiful lines," she says, manipulating the hologram. "Now let's make Tribune Jin Kol see you."
She begins designing directly on my holographic form. Black fabric, but not just black. This material seems to absorb light, creating shadows that emphasize every curve, and a neckline that plunges dramatically.
"I can't wear that. I'll fall out of it."
"No, you won’t. It’s gravitational micro-weave," Lira explains. "It’ll respond to your body's electromagnetic field. The more confident you feel, the better it holds. Doubt yourself, and well..." She grins. "Don't doubt yourself."
The back of the dress is nearly nonexistent, just strategic bands of that light-eating fabric. The skirt hits mid-thigh but features slits that travel dangerously high.
"How much will this cost?"
"Let's see... with the specialty materials, the gravitational weave, the thermal responsiveness..." She calculates rapidly. "About three months of your salary."
I wince, checking my credit balance. “I can’t afford that. I don’t even have enough credits in my account.”
“Nonsense.” Lira taps her IC. “You’re not buying it personally. You’re attending a gala as liaison to the Sovereigns, which makes this a diplomatic presentation expense. I’ll authorize it through the general liaison fund.”
“I don’t want to cause trouble,” I say quickly. “If the Sovereigns review the ledgers—”
“They won’t blink at one gown,” she interrupts.
“They spend more on wine during a single High Table. Still…” She glances at me, her expression softening.
“If it makes you feel better, I’ll mark it for shared usage.
Future liaisons can claim it as a wardrobe asset. That way it won’t look extravagant.”
The holographic confirmation flashes:
The relief hits me hard, chased by guilt. “So this won’t come out of my pay?”
“Of course not,” Lira says. "It's an investment. Tribune Jin Kol controls IGC policy toward human affairs. Get his attention, and you might actually make a difference. And let’s not forget this is the one man the Sovereigns want you to make happy."
I can’t argue with that.
"Jewelry?" Lira asks, already pulling up new displays. "You'll need something to complement the dress. And to ensure your ID tag is visible."
"I'm broke, remember?"
"Message Sovereign Lorian. Tell him you need additional credits for... supplies. Don't specify what. He'll be curious, but he won't push. Ask for two-thousand.”
“Two-thousand?! I’ll never be able to pay that back.”
“And you’ll never have to. Men across the galaxy don’t blink twice at buying women jewelry, even their employees.”
I hesitate, then open a secure message:
Sovereign Lorian, I require additional credits for essential supplies. 2000 should cover it. -Eve
His response is almost instant:
Of course. Transferring now. Though I'm curious what supplies require such specific funding. -Sovereign Lorian
Personal items for the Championships. You are most generous. Thank you. -Eve
My sweet human heretic, always plotting something.
The funds appear in my account immediately. Which is good because Lira has already designed a piece of jewelry I must pay for.
"Here, let me show you how this works." Lira holds up my standard ID necklace, the utilitarian necklace all staff must wear. "The tag has a magnetic core. Watch."
She brings it close to the silver necklace, and the tag clicks into place, disappearing into an ornate centerpiece that looks like it was always meant to be there. What was once a mark of employment becomes a jewel at my throat.
"The necklace also monitors your vitals and location, just like your regular ID, but now it looks like you chose to wear it rather than being required to. We will put the pin Sovereign Rafe gave you in a bracelet the same way."
I watch as Lira produces a bracelet that Rafe’s pin pops into as if it was always meant to be there and then slips it onto my wrist.
"Now for the real transformation," Lira says, leading me to a private preparation suite. "Have you ever used a cosmetic programming station?"
“Of course not.”
“Well, you’re in for a treat then. It’s expensive, so only the wealthy have access to it. Sit down,” she says, motioning to a seat.
In front of me, a mirror scans my face and projects different looks in real-time. Lira works the controls, starting conservatively, then gradually pushing the makeup further.
"No, more dramatic," I tell her. "If I'm playing this game, I'm playing to win."
She adjusts the parameters for a more enhanced look. “If you go this far, you’ll be wading into Reima Two-wife material,” she says.
“What do you mean?”
“Remember what I said before about the Sovereigns?”
“How could I ever forget it?” I say, assuming she’s referring to them treating me more like a woman of romantic interest than just their human employee.
“If you look like this, you’ll reflect what you’d look like as their wife.”
“I’m still not following.”
“Very few women are wealthy enough or have the status to ever look like this. We have laws that prevent members of different classes to wear certain clothing, jewelry, hair styles, etc. If you wear this, you’ll be meeting them as if you were of the same class as they are, not as their employee.
It will cause a stir. But as a human, you are outside societal laws, if you see what I mean? ”
“Sovereign Lorian must know what I’m doing,” I say.
But I know that doesn’t really matter. I know Lorian well enough to know he doesn’t put much stock in rules.
It’s Rafe who will be most affected by this.
He’s always been very particular about following rules.
“I can’t think about them now,” I tell Lira.
“Do that look. The wife look. I can’t fail now. ”
The application process is mesmerizing. Microscopic brushes apply pigments that sink into my skin at the molecular level. No smudging, no fading, no touch-ups needed. My eyes become smoky mysteries with hints of gold that catch the light. Sister Agnes would say I look like a whore.
It’s perfect.
"The nanopigments will last twelve hours," Lira says. "They will respond to your body chemistry, meaning they will flush when you're aroused, pale when you're angry, shimmer when you're confident… you get it. It's like wearing your emotions as art."
"What about my hair?" I ask. “If I’m going in, I’m going all the way. What can we do with it?"
"Everything." She activates another system. "Temporary molecular restructuring. We can change texture, add volume, even shift the color slightly without damage, and that still would be within Spire guidelines."
We settle on waves that look effortlessly tousled but are actually precisely arranged to frame my face.
"Holy shit," I breathe when she's finished. The woman in the mirror is a stranger. She’s powerful, but most importantly, she's the kind of woman that doesn't get ignored.
"The dress will be ready in an hour," Lira says. "The printer needs time for the gravitational weave to stabilize. Practice walking in these." She produces a pair of heels that seem to defy physics, with straps that wind up my calves like serpents.
"I'll break my neck."
"No you won’t. There are gyroscopic stabilizers in the heels. You could run in these if you had to."
I practice walking in the shoes while we wait, learning how they adjust to my movements. They're surprisingly comfortable once I trust the technology.
When the printer chimes its completion, Lira helps me into the dress. The fabric feels alive against my skin, adjusting to my body temperature and clinging to my curves in all the right places.
"One more thing," Lira says like my fairy godmother, producing a small vial. "Pheromone enhancer. Use this just a touch at your pulse points. It's designed to be subtle, not enough to be consciously noticed, but enough to make you... memorable."
I take the vial but don’t apply it yet. I’ve gotten so many vials lately; I hope I don’t mix them up.
"Tribune Jin Kol won't know what hit him," Lira says with satisfaction. "Neither will the Sovereigns, for that matter."
That gives me pause, but I don’t say anything, just open the vial of pheromones.