6.

Genia’s countenance… a single track of sweat marring her oval face; her eyes a careless scrawl of kohl on the subtle flatness of the plane of her brow… the acute sweep of chin into neck taut and shining with invisible saltwater… a simple V-neck singlet just starting to darken at its ragged edge, it’s V mirroring and reinforcing the sharp relief of the V her tendons made at the hollow of her damascene’d throat… She drew in breath like-A sharp pain in my ankle as Win kicked me and I raised my head… woolgathering at her already, damn her eyes! and Win noticing… and she…! And me striving for objectivity!She was far from perfect, truth be told. A wandering right eye and the eyes themselves set too wide apart… neck too narrow, and a trifle heavy in the breast and hip. It might be that we need to continue this arduous research. A few more questions would tell the tale, such precious little had she said. Perhaps a demonstration of intent, as it were.’Win, my kit please,’ I said, and he handed me the flat black wallet. I admonished our charge to be still and silent, lest she anger us. Hah, the sheer imperiousness of it all, and she swallowed every silvery drop! More indication of her ultimate fitness, if not desirability.I unlaced the crude cord of leather that bound the scuffed wallet tight shut and spread the leaves wide. From the case I took the tools…One ampule saline solution. Win stood and stepped behind her.One packet diacetyl morphinum #4. Each item confusing her more.One bottle isopropyl alcohol, 80%. The wide strap went around her like the arms of a lover.Cotton batting, pre-sterilized. She was holding her breath.One permanent magnesium match and striker. Win tightened the strap, immobilizing her.One two-inch diameter stainless, lenticular cup, milled to a thickness of a centimeter upon the outer edge, graduating to a thickness of less than a millimeter at the center. She twisted her heard around sharply, then stilled as I completed my armament…Ten disposable insulin syringes, arrayed like the bullets for a gunbelt. Their screaming orange tips, so damned offensive. She struggled to contain her fear… and less immediately identifiable emotions.(Why did I not keep the diamorphinum in solution, you ask? Simply because the preparationtakes longer. Luxurious, I know.)’Stop!’ she cried, and tried to rise from her seat. Win had strapped her well, in one sense, anyway, and she could not move. ‘What do you mean by this?’ she shrilled, quite ridiculous. ‘What sort of job is this?! I cannot… will not…”My dear. It is the one job that matters… at this time, in this place. In your purview, my dear, there is no more and no less. This. Is. It.’She howled and spat as I prepared our shots.