The Jade Paramour

From Torg Adventure

The sickingly sweet incense tickled Basil Radstock's nose, and he controlled the urge to sneeze. In the back of his mind, the soft whirring and occasional chuff of steam coming from his bodyguard comforted him. The trade negotiations had hit a boring stage, and he also fought the urge to yawn. His partner, Lamont Ardmore, was much more interested in the legal details of the trade deal. Basil dealt with broad goals and the big picture.

Their Chinese hosts were impeccable at providing to the needs of the British delegation. Food and beverage were supplied by a seemingly endless stream of exotically beautiful native women dressed in the gaudiest silks, makeup, and perfumes. One in particular made him very glad that his wife was half a world away. She gave him sidelong glances and pert smiles. Whenever she refilled his plate, she leaned in such a way to brush against his arm or hand, sometimes with her breast. Her feet and ankles were bare and shapely, quite a titillation.

During one particularly long stretch of contract writing, Basil looked at his bodyguard, a Stansfield Mark IV. The brass gleam of its armored body caught the light from the oil lamps remarkably. Its watchful lenses caught every movement in the room. Basil could almost see the gears of the automaton's analytic engine working to calculate any threat. The pneumatic dart gun built into its arm was poised in front of its chest and could shoot six tiny darts a second for nearly two minutes straight. Basil smiled at the deadly efficiency of this top of the line mechanical man.

He scooted his chair closer to Lamont and paid more attention.