by L A Warren
She’d never been so alone. Elise regarded the warped floors and walls. They stretched out and twisted beyond comprehension. The strong steady beat of Gregor’s heart, and the very palpable pull of his anger, caused her to shake with uncontrollable fear.
Threads of power swirled all around her, an intense latticework of dimensions, but she could no longer touch them. Gregor had her blocked. Her connection to the WOR-skill weakened. Power coursed all around her, but instead of that intuitive contact she managed moments ago, the fragile threads slipped past her frantic grasps.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Gambit, Day 140
Three days later someone ripped the covers off Elise’s sleeping body. She grabbed for the sheets and their vanishing warmth as cool air brushed against her skin. Groaning, she curled into a fetal ball.
“Elise, get up!” a familiar voice yelled in her ear.
Why are people bothering me?
Someone kicked her.
“Stop that!” she cried out.
“Dammit! Get up! The WOR-guards will be here any minute.”
The WOR-guards? She blinked and rubbed at the sleep in her eyes.
“First breakfast starts in five minutes.” Aomi's long, black hair glinted in the too bright light.
Chandra opened Elise’s cubby and pulled out a red silk dress. “Get up,” she said. “You have a minute to get dressed, two minutes to make it to breakfast, any longer and we’re all going to be seeing the end of a whipstick.” Chandra’s blonde curls bounced on her shoulders.
Elise had never overslept before, but then she’d never stayed awake for three days running.
Alice stood outside her sleeping pod. It was hard to miss the tall blonde. “Hurry up, one of them just rounded the bend!”
Aomi and Chandra lifted the dress over Elise’s head, guiding her awkward hands into the appropriate holes. Aomi fastened the linked chain around her waist while Chandra helped her get the shoes on. The three of them hurried out of the pod and around the corner before the WOR-guard could see their rapid flight.
They slowed to a fast walk and headed toward the breakfast line.
Alice knocked her on the back of her head. “What’s up with you?”
“Hey, that hurts,” Elise said.
“That was nothing compared to the whipstick,” Alice said. “This is the second day you haven’t gotten up with the bell. You’re lucky Chandra’s bed is next to yours.”
“No shit,” Chandra said. “But today I couldn’t get you to wake up. I ran to get Aomi and Alice to help. Elise, you have to get it together. If someone like 10-4 found out, you’d be toast for sure.”
“Her name is Sarah.”
Elise despised the Vendel's numeric naming convention, Sarah's name might sound like a CB sign off, but then that was the point. The numbers dehumanized them, took away that which was so personal. What was more intimate than a name?
“Screw the bitch’s name, 10-4 is apt for her. She keeps all those vlor’lords smiling for days,” Aomi said, grumbling. “Do you see what she does during training? Ugh, she strokes their hands and licks her lips. You don’t even want to know what she’s doing with her feet under the tables! I bet she was a whore back on Earth.”
“Nah, whores get paid. I bet 10-4 gave it away for free, and to a lot of people. Tramp is the better word,” Chandra said.
“Nevertheless, her name is Sarah. The Vendel call her 10-4, but we shouldn’t. Our names are the only things we have left of Earth.”
“Elise,” Alice said, “10-4 has embraced her new Vendel home with enthusiasm. Now that she’s Fifth Rank, she’s horrible.”
Elise stumbled.
Alice grabbed her arm and kept her from falling. “Seriously, what’s up?”
Elise tapped her fingers, using the ultra-private code known only to her and Alice. You don’t want to know.
She had based this code off the original one she'd devised for the women, but it was only a matter of time before the Vendel discovered the women's secret communication. Another form of control. Take away their names. Take away their communication. Well, Elise had taken both of those back. It was a small form of resistance, but it mattered. It all mattered.
They made it just in time. The WOR-guards closed the doors after they stepped into line. Elise filled her plate with a salad and went to sit down. Her head hurt and all she wanted to do was sleep.
The other women ate in silence.
After Activation, the Tenders had rearranged the daily routine. Fifth Rank ate the first rotation of each meal. After that, they continued their studies on Vendel society and technology. First lunch followed and then five grueling hours of training in WOR-skill filled the rest of the day until dinnertime.
It wasn’t that the training was physically hard, but after hours of staring at the rose and red ball, Elise’s head hurt.
For the past cycle, she sat with Gregor and practiced the focusing exercises. Master Tender Marcus took a few days off to heal from whatever had happened in that room. Gregor never spoke about it and treated her with kid gloves every day that followed. It wasn't that he was fearful of what she had done. Rather, he appeared terrified of what might have happened to her. Evidently, it was possible for a WOR to burn out. Yet another potential way for her to die. Despite the ravage of her first brush with the WOR-skill, life returned to the monotony of its routine.
For the others, the field of eligible vlor’lords whittled down each day until there were less than ten candidates for each woman. The High Tender felt it would only be another cycle before they could begin confirming lords and s’vlor.
Elise’s and Gregor’s compatibility score came in at a solid ten. It had taken just two days to confirm. When High Tender Marcus returned, he let it slip how unusual it was to establish a perfect score; just another oddity that was Elise’s new life.
Gregor, of course, beamed. He went on and on about how she had been made for him. It made her stomach twist.
Today, when they arrived for WOR class, High Tender vlor’Martun had rearranged the classroom yet again. He replaced the long rows with massive circular tables. The insides had been cut out to make room for an inner ring of seats. Five seats on the inside sat opposite an equal number arranged on the outside. A small cutaway gave entrance to the center of the table.
As they arrived, High Tender vlor’Martun directed the women to their seats. A single desk stood to the side of the group with two chairs. Elise didn’t need High Tender vlor’Martun to tell her where to sit.
Gregor sat with his feet propped on the desk. He reclined with his hands crossed behind his head looking perfectly relaxed.
As High Tender vlor’Martun made his assignments, Elise approached the Emperor. “Good day, Gregor.”
He nodded. “Yes, it is, opés. Please have a seat.” Gregor kicked his feet off the table and rose. He pulled out the other chair and helped to seat her at the table. She turned to watch the room fill with waiting s’vlor and the lords. Alice was seated at a table at the far end of the room. Aomi, Chandra, and Paula sat inside the nearest of the large round tables.
“What is all this?” she said.
“Next phase of training.”
“But, I thought they were still working through compatibility scales?”
“True. There will still be some shuffling of vlor and s’vlor, but they are ready to start training the first skill. The rest will sort itself out over next cycle.”
“Oh.”
The room filled. Sarah took a seat between Aomi and Chandra, who both stiffened. Sarah ignored them.
The afternoon wore on.
High Tender vlor’Martun lectured, explaining the first skill of the Bar. He droned on for twenty minutes about force diagrams, centering yourself, and imagining your mind pushing a set of balls along folding vectors.
With her tenth failure, she heaved a frustrated sigh and rested her head on her hands. "This is impossible."
"You're not focusing, opés,” Gregor soothed. "Let's tr
y the focusing exercises again and regroup."
She lifted her head and stared at him. Again? How many times were they going to start from the beginning?
"It's idiotic. Why turn something so simple into such a convoluted series of incomprehensible tasks?"
Gregor kept his frustration in check, mostly. It was his turn to sigh, and it was much more controlled than hers. He was actually being quite patient, considering her complete failure to accomplish anything. She hadn't been able to touch the WOR-skill since that very first focusing exercise.
Sarah, on the other hand, set the four balls spinning on the tabletop and beamed with her success at the vlor’lord opposite her.
A touch of edginess crept into Gregor's voice as he talked her through the focusing drill.
Those four little balls sat unmoving on her desk the entire session.
Gregor's gaze shifted to the tables, taking note of the squeals of delight as eighty-nine other women moved their little balls without much difficulty. Psychic abilities all around, except for Elise, the retard of the group. She'd never been on that side of the bell curve before and didn't like it much.
Why is it so simple for them and impossible for me?
Gregor took her through the focusing drills, again, the odd little rosebud and red ball routine. That was the easy part. She imagined the little rosebud unfolding and folding. In her mind, she picked the petals, one by one. I’ll destroy him. I’ll destroy him not. They’ll destroy me. They’ll destroy me not. After she stripped the poor rose bare, she carefully put her imaginary rose back together.
Easy.
The stupid balls, however, defied any effort to obey her will.
Not a wiggle nor a wobble.
The four tiny balls sat on the table perfectly content to remain that way forever.
She tried to explain how their methods were wrong. She could see how to make it work, but Gregor stopped her every time she tried to do it her way. Perhaps worried about her accessing the WOR-skill outside their rigid protocols.
Even High Tender Marcus refused to hear what she had to say. He'd chastised her when she'd asked to try it her way.
"We've been training s’vlor for millennium, 10-2, what could you possibly know about the WOR-skill? You're simply not applying yourself."
That earned her a scowl from Gregor. After class dismissal, Gregor left without a goodbye. He signaled to the High Tender with a jerk of his chin and the two men exited the room with their heads buried in deep conversation.
She remained in her chair. The other women and the vlor’lords milled about, in no rush to leave.
Damn Tenders and their rules.
She looked at the four little balls and tried it her way, because she could, and because no one was paying attention. Rather than constructing complex lines of force and folding vectors, she imagined the balls simply moving into position. She wanted that ball to move up and the other to move down.
The little balls rolled obediently into place.
Ha! It works.
Once she removed the stupid scaffolding of force, lines, vectors, and that weird folding ritual, the little balls did exactly as she wanted. She stole a glance around the room.
The vlor’lords said their goodbyes to the women.
It looks like a damn cocktail party mixer. She’d taken to speaking to herself in her head. It was the safest place to vent. A well-dressed cocktail party.
The daily dresses the s’vlor wore seemed commonplace now, but back on Earth they would’ve rivaled the richest celebrity event. The lords, decked out in their house uniforms, looked just as dashing. An air of flirtation and cautious investigation drifted through the room. Now that the field of vlor’lords had been narrowed down, the interactions between s’vlor and their potential candidates became more inquisitive than fearful.
The women eyed the men speculatively. They fell into the only roles they knew; a tentative touch, a shy giggle, demure eyes, a glance held just a little too long, a casual swish of silk and a timid smile, all social cues with one purpose in mind. These women didn’t understand they were giving the vlor’lords exactly what they wanted.
Sometimes, it seemed she was the only one who remembered these men were the enemy. If it wouldn’t land her in trouble, she’d grab those stupid little balls and whip them across the room. Maybe even hit one of those lordlings with the little projectiles. With an irritated flick of her eyes, she imagined the four little balls doing just that—sailing off the table to smack into the far wall.
Sailing wasn’t exactly what happened. Flying was too weak of a word. The four balls rocketed off the table. Little missiles flew through the air and burrowed themselves deep into the far wall like buckshot out of a gun. Elise ducked and the room went silent.
“Holy shit,” a female voice exclaimed.
“What in the worlds was that?” a male voice bellowed.
“Don’t be frightened, little one.” That one also come from a male.
Contempt rose within her. Don't comfort her, you bastard.
Cries of alarm reverberated through the room as the vlor’lords tried to figure out where the sudden noise had come from. Elise knew. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to tell anyone. But how could she hide this from the Tenders? That wasn’t part of the first skill of the Bar. Elise imagined her little projectiles sitting on the table just the way Gregor had left them.
One by one the tiny balls materialized in front of her with a tiny pop, reforming from thin air right where they belonged. She stood in alarm.
Did I do that?
High Tender vlor’Martun examined the room. He passed her table, eyed the four balls resting peacefully, and moved on. The other High Tenders collected into a huddle at the very front of the room. She filed out of the room with the rest of the bewildered s’vlor. Whatever the noise had been, they had only minutes to get to dinner before the wor-guards began flashing those sticks. No one was ever intentionally late to dinner.
She hurried to catch up to Alice. “Hey, how’re you doing?”
“Pretty good,” Alice said, excited. “I got two of the balls to wiggle. Did you ever think you’d ever be able to do that?” Alice swung her arms wide.
Elise had to lengthen her stride to keep pace with her tall friend.
Her friend flashed a grin. “As a child, I always wanted to use my mind to make things happen. All those stories about magic and sorcerers…the Internet vid shows with those people with superpowers. This is a dream come true.” Alice did a little skip. “Lord vlor’Calcask says today was nothing. He says it’s the tiniest bit of what we’ll be able to do. All we have to do is work hard and focus our minds.”
“Hm,” Elise murmured. That hadn’t been what she was going to say.
“Edgard told me I did really well today, and High Tender vlor’Martun let him teach me for three of the rotations. Isn’t that a quirky name?”
Elise stopped short. “He told you his name?”
“Yeah,” Alice said. “Why are you looking at me like that. Don’t roll your eyes. He’s actually kind of cute, in a geeky roman gladiator kind of way. Are all the Vendel born with such huge muscles?”
“He didn’t ask you to use it, did he? Call him by his given name?”
It was Alice’s turn to be evasive. “Well, he said it wasn’t proper just yet, but I was welcome to call him Edgard where no one else could hear. He said it’d be okay.”
Elise smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Do you even know what that means?”
“Why do you care what I call him, or what he calls me? Relax a little.”
“Alice, what does he call you?”
“Just a pet name really.” Alice shrugged. “Opés. It’s kind of cute.”
Elise shook her head.
“Why are you giving me that look?”
“Names are significant in Vendel society. It’s something they haven’t taught, because I think they want to keep everyone from getting upset.”
“If you know somet
hing tell me,” Alice said.
“You’re not supposed to use a man’s first name.”
“You call the emperor by name,” she countered.
“Not by choice. In fact, it was one of the first things they taught—hell, trained—me using the braklav. In Vendel society when a woman uses a man’s given name she’s broadcasting an intimate relationship. Only wives and consorts use the given name, and, as I’ve come to find out, that’s generally only in private. In public, even they use formal names and titles, except during matrimonial rites.”
“How’d you find all this out?”
“Please, Gregor was dying to tell me what it all meant. Just another way to put me under his thumb.” Elise ground her teeth and stepped a little faster.
“But we’re not wives or consorts.” The tone of Alice’s voice dropped. “Are we?”
“No, we’re not. And, I’m guessing opés is a term they use for their WOR, for us. I thought it was an annoying pet name of Gregor’s, but I guess it’s more than that. If this Lord vlor’Calcask has asked you to use his first name, well—in his mind—you already belong to him.”
“Shit,” Alice said.
They hurried to the beginning of the food line. Alice remained silent. Elise took a plate and handed it to her friend. Alice piled food on it and went down the line.
“But, then he’s really kind. I mean, he’s trying to help me figure out the first skill. He’s funny, too.”
Elise found Aomi and Chandra and joined them at their table. Alice came along and sat down quietly. The four of them sat in silence, eating, while the wor-guard patrolled.
Aomi scraped her fork on the plate tapping out the secret code as she did. What’s up with Alice?
I told her something she didn’t want to hear.
Alice looked up from her plate and stared across the table. She tapped, But it doesn’t mean we’re supposed to be intimate with them? It’s that we become property, right?
