Esperanza Ortega; Wanted for Murder, Theft.

[Pryce]

[font=Courier New][color=#FFFF00]Erik T. Demoses Public Park
Wilshire, Planet Los Angeles.
1320 Local Time.




Esperanza had briefly considered borrowing some good citizens' pet to complete her look, later deciding it might cause greater problems then it was worth. She frowned. She had never had a pet, even as a child, until a few years back when Rafa had brought home a furry little demon they had named Astarte. They had settled on a pet while they considered children, and..



The quiet rolling of an A.I. lasertrimmer behind her brought an end to her idle thoughts.


She turned slightly and glanced over over her right shoulder, and tensed ever so slightly at the tenderness still in her left side. It was getting better though, and soon enough would be only another set of scars added to those she had already possessed. The trimmer rolled lazily along, trimming the low hedge with perfect mathematical precision, each branch extending to exactly the same length as the one beside it. Another unit trailed behind, leaving the area completely clear of any debris. The hedge might as well been popped out of a mold.



"You missed a spot." She said out loud. The trimmer didn't heed, and continued on. It hadn't missed anything, of course.


The sun beat down on her;sixty meters or so ahead of her, lay the perimeter of what was once the Los Angeles branch of the Pryce Institute. It wasn't a military installation; there wasn't so much as a fence surrounding the facility, the design apparently to coincide with the open, natural feel of the neighborhood; Not far to the south, began neat rows of private apartments as far as she could see. The Institute rested at the line between a gathering of similar academic buildings and middle class residential dwellings. A sleepy-looking woman holding a small child passed Ortega on the walk. As the figure passed, the child eyed Ortega curiously.



Ortega wondered if maybe Allie had exaggerated what was going on here. If so, what Ortega was thinking of doing would only make a mess. Actually, it was bound to make a mess regardless. The portable scanner, presently resting within a small handbag, chirped quietly, indicating that its scan was completed. Ortega resisted the urge to review the results at once, and looked back down at the book she had been pretending to read. She'd lifted it from a careless traveler just before leaving Manhattan, along with two others like it. One book she had fenced upon arriving on Los Angeles; the proceeds had purchased several days stay in a middle class hotel, a few items of clothing, along with a few other needed items.



The book she held now was an English translation of Il Principe, by a Niccolò Machiavelli. A glance through its pages told her the man she'd stolen it from was apparently a minor executive with illusions of grandeur.A true collector would not have been so careless with it. This one would fence for a good price, and she was saving it for when the need was great. She would probably take the time to read it before she unloaded it. It would have to be soon. The ship was in desperate need of repairs, that would only worsen until she was left stranded. Which wouldn't do.


Ortega stood from the bench, took a last look around the park, and headed back to the hotel.

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