Airship Nation (Darkworld Chronicles Book 2)

by Tom DeMarco

  “You may take yourself and your men away now, Deacon. We shall be content to be alone with the captive.”

  “Yes, Milady.”

  Loren watched them out of the room. The girls had to step aside for them to pass. Then they were back at the door, eyes still shining and locked on the shackled prisoner. They had not crossed the threshold, as if that were not allowed. All four were crowded into the doorway to see.

  Sonia followed his glance toward the girls. “Shoo!” she said, with a wave of her arm, and they were gone. She smiled, indulgently to herself. It was as if he were not present. Without a word or a look in his direction, she crossed back to the table and gathered the papers there together. She folded them into the front of a book, closed it, and pushed it back on the table. Then she strode across the room to a door he had not noticed before and passed through it.

  The girls were still in the anteroom; he could hear them conversing quietly, and occasionally their laughter. One of them risked a peek at him from the doorway. She disappeared as soon as he looked her way. He waited. Pushed up against the bookcase near his side was what looked like a padded massage table, as big as a single bed on wheels. He wished it were closer so he could sit or lie on it. He was suddenly tired.

  When she came back in, she had changed out of her skirt and sweater and into a kind of short black robe with a gold belt at the waist. It looked like the garb the young women had on. Her skirt and sweater before had been black too. What was it that all the black meant to her? She had often dressed in black before, because it flattered her, he had supposed. But this was different, the mania for black garments was part of what was happening. Again she was in no hurry to speak. She stood immediately before him, looking into his eyes. The cold hand again on his cheek.

  “So,…” he began. She put her fingers over his lips to stop him. But said nothing. Only looked at him. Once more the sense that she might have been looking at a stranger or even an object.

  Sonia turned back toward the door and clapped her hands. Immediately, the four girls came rushing in. They were excited, like puppies called to dinner. Sonia smiled at their enthusiasm. “Well,” she said, “I know you can guess what I’ll be wanting.”

  The spoke in unison, “Yes, Milady,” and ran from the room. They were back in seconds, the lead one carrying a leather case about the size of a manicure set. “It’s all ready, Milady,” she said.

  “Thank you, Lisa.” The girl opened the case and offered it to her. Sonia removed a hypodermic needle. She held it up to the light of the window, looking for air at the top of the reservoir. Loren saw a few drops expelled from the point as she manipulated the plunger upward.

  “What do you think I will tell you?” His voice was brittle. For some reason the question seemed funny to the young women. Sonia ignored him.

  She smiled at Lisa. “Would you like to be the one, my dear?”

  “Oh, yes, Milady.”

  After handing her the needle, Sonia moved to Loren’s side and took the cuff of his sleeve in both hands. She pushed her hands apart and the fabric ripped all the way up to his shoulder. Loren stared down dumbly at the torn cloth. He could never have done that. And she had done it without obvious effort. Sonia took his arm and pulled it sideways, thus forcing the chain to run along through the ring and pin his far hand. Her upper arm and shoulder as they were revealed by her movement were thickly muscled, not just firm, but bulging. The veins running over the bicep were visible and prominent. She was gentle enough handling his arm, but he had no illusions about resisting.

  In all his life, he had never before received an injection without first having the site rubbed with alcohol or ether. Neither was in evidence here. The girl inserted the needle, giving a little squeal as she did. Loren felt a dull ache as she pushed in the plunger. She let her breath out all at once as she withdrew the needle.

  “What do you think I’m going to tell you,” he said again. “What is it you don’t already know? The key to the laser weapons? You know that SHIELA is gone, you certainly know that.”

  Sonia ignored him.

  “What could I possibly tell you that you don’t already know?”

  She turned around to face him, smiling very slightly. “You’re not going to tell us anything, Loren. It’s not the secrets of your mind that interest us.”

  The five of them were laughing. Their laughter had a tinny sound to him, as if it were broadcast through a bad speaker, and it sounded too loud. There was a bitter metallic taste in his mouth. He felt weak.

  Sonia turned to her young companions. “Off with you now, my angels. This is not for you. On your way.” They looked disappointed, but went out obediently, back through the anteroom door.

  Loren’s knees were threatening to crumple underneath him. He made an effort to hold himself erect. His tongue was thick in his mouth. Sonia was standing just in front of him, her face not ten inches away from his own. “We’ve been waiting for this, haven’t we?” She spoke softly. He felt her hands on his chest. She undid the buttons quickly to run her cold hands over him. She leaned forward to place her kiss on one of his nipples and then on the other. “We’ve both been waiting.” Her cool lips were on the bruised flesh over his cheekbone, brushing, kissing lightly. He could not speak. Again her mouth suckling at his one swollen nipple. She was running her hands down the front of his jeans, pressing against the stiff fabric to feel him growing underneath. She rubbed up and down, murmuring.

  Loren was trying to concentrate on keeping his knees stiff. If they bent, he felt, he would not be able to stop himself from falling. Sonia’s hands were inside his belt, pushing down against his lower stomach. He was having trouble keeping his head up. It pitched forward and he watched her hands beginning to undo his belt and sliding the zipper down. She reached inside to touch him. Her breath was suddenly audible and warm against his chest. She slid the jeans partway down over this hips. One hand was in back now, caressing his behind, her other hand fondling him in front. And then her lips were pressed into his, her tongue intruding. She had a hand behind his neck, forcing him toward her. His knees buckled and he slid down the wall. She followed him, kissing hungrily. Then she was on her feet again. She pulled out the little key from a pocket and used it to unlock the shackles. When he was free of the ring, his body fell heavily onto the floor. He slumped to the side. Sonia was over him, unlocking the other shackle. Then she lifted him like a sack and placed him onto the padded table.

  She stood above him, staring, enjoying his chagrin. He had never thought of himself before as modest, but now he wanted desperately to cover himself, and couldn’t. It was somehow worse to be partly uncovered, the jeans down on his thighs, than to be naked. He could feel her eyes on him. Her hands and lips were roving over his body, exploring. He was aware of her excitement, her lips were suddenly hot, and her hands were warming.

  She rolled him over onto his side, dragged her nails lightly along his back and over his hips. She was caressing his bottom, running her fingers down between its two parts, touching lightly on the rectum. Loren felt himself lifted upward, to a semi-kneeling position. He was helpless to resist. She lifted him and then bent his upper body down so that his chest was on the surface of the bed, leaving his behind up in the air. His lower legs were still tangled in the jeans. It seemed she had stepped away from him. A long, appreciative sigh as she took in the spectacle of his humiliation.

  She turned him again onto his back, her lips on him, her mouth and tongue. His body, his treacherous body was responding. Her long hair was sweeping back and forth over his groin, and then her tongue, and then her hair again, and then her tongue. He could hear himself groaning again as she nursed him more fully into erection.

  Now she was astraddle of him. She placed his head so he was looking directly up and back at her. He knew she had nothing on under the black robe, he had been able to tell from the feel of her pressing against him. She reached down for the hem and lifted it, calmly exposing herself. Then glancing down toward her black haired
pubis, “Isn’t this what all the fuss was about, all those years ago, Loren? Isn’t it?”

  She lowered herself onto him, taking his penis into her, and began rocking back and forth. My god, he thought, this is rape. She thrust herself down hard, her hands on his chest, driving the breath from him. Rape. A long groan escaped from his lips. It seemed impossible that his body would consent to this, would take part, but it did. He came almost at once. She took no notice, but carried on, rocking against him for her own pleasure. She went on a long time, grinding painfully against him. At last she seemed to attain her release. She made no sound, but her features calmed, her mouth opened softly and her eyes closed. She paused over him, quivering slightly. Then her eyes were open again. The expression that came over her as her pleasure faded was one of boredom. She lifted herself off him and disappeared.

  When he awoke he was in a bed with crisp clean sheets. There was late afternoon sun streaming in through the window. The room was large, elegantly furnished, but rather impersonal, a guest room he imagined. It was certainly not Sonia’s room judging by the bright colors and floral prints.

  A scraping sound at his side, the turning of a page. He twisted his head with some effort. She was seated in an easy chair by the window with a book in her lap. She had on her black and gray tweed skirt again and black sweater. Her feet were up on the ottoman. She appeared to have on tights under the skirt, black of course, and low black shoes. Sensing him awake, she looked up and smiled slightly. He tried to say something. His mouth was thick.

  “Shush, ” she said. “Give yourself a little time.” She set down her book and rose. With one arm passed under his shoulder, she lifted him slightly to hold a glass of water to his lips. He drank thirstily. “Slow, slow. Take it easy.” Then she lowered him and busied herself straightening and tucking the covers. When she was satisfied, she went back to her place by the window and picked up her book once more, glancing back at him before opening it. Again the little smile. She had a pair of reading glasses, hanging from a cord around her neck, which she now put on. The expression as she turned her attention to the pages of her book was one he remembered from long ago, a familiar combination of eagerness and intensity.

  The scene was so gentle and domestic, he began to doubt the one that had preceded it. Here they were, Loren and Sonia, as he had always intended for them to be. The husband, laid up with a cold perhaps, and his lovely wife, keeping him company, ministering to him in his illness. There was no hint in the peaceful reading woman of violence, of compulsion, of the anger that must have driven her to debase him. Or had that too been a dream, like the dream of Sonia standing astride his coffin? No, he thought not. He was still unable to move more than his fingers and toes and his head a little bit. Lying still, his thoughts unfocused, he fell back into a light sleep.

  When he woke he needed urgently to relieve himself. He couldn’t lift himself, but his voice worked enough to gain her attention. Sonia came to him, leaned over close to his mouth to hear his words. He explained what he needed. She nodded. She lifted him easily out of the bed to set him on his feet. He had been dressed in a dark blue kimono, a Japanese sleeping robe, which she straightened for him. She leaned him onto her shoulder, passed a supportive arm around under his arms. Loren stared down at his feet, willing them to move. He still could not carry his own weight, but Sonia was there to supply whatever force he could not. She guided him around the end of the bed and toward the distant door.

  He was embarrassed, but she took no notice at all, simply saw to his needs, as professional as a nurse. He shut his eyes again. When he was done, she sat him down on an upholstered bench near the tub. The sound of water running. There were bottles of oils and salts in a cabinet beside the sink. She wrinkled her brow while studying the selection, then chose one finally and poured a pink liquid into the bath. The room was suffused with the odor of rose. Pushing back the sleeves of her sweater, she turned to Loren. She opened his robe, turned it down over his shoulders to leave him naked. After dipping a hand into the tub to test, she lifted him all at once and set him down in the water. The rose liquid had foamed up enough to cover his nudity. Loren leaned his head back heavily onto the back of the tub. Sonia was turning the knobs at the end of the tub to pour much hotter water in. She could boil him, he supposed, and he would be helpless to stop her. He felt unable even to protest.

  When the water had run up to near the top of the tub and was almost uncomfortably hot, she turned it off. Loren could hear his ears ringing in the sudden silence. She seated herself on the wide edge of the tub, leaning down over his still helpless form to begin washing. There was nothing to think about now, nothing he had the energy to think about. Only a sadness, lying as heavily upon him as the scented water. Sonia washed carefully everywhere. He tried not to think.

  As the tub drained, she rinsed him carefully, head to toe. There were thick white towels beside her on a table. She wrapped one of them around him as she lifted him back to a standing position. He leaned against the towel rack beside the tub while she dried him. After she had cast the towels aside, she lifted him off his feet again and onto his back on the bench. A flash of fear ran like a spasm through the muscles over his heart. Sonia was back at the cabinet, looking for something new. When she returned, she had a small vial in her hand, an ornate bottle as for perfume. It had a scented oil in it, some of which she now spilled into her hand. She began rubbing the oil into his chest and under his arms. She anointed his feet next with the oil, taking each one in her two hands and massaging it carefully, rubbing the oil in. Finally she rubbed some very gently into his genitals, examining them curiously as she did. After she was done, she dressed him in a fresh kimono and carried him back to the bed.

  It was twilight before he woke again. Now he could move reasonably well, though he still felt awkward on his feet. He got himself to the bathroom and drank from the sink. When he came back, she was standing in the far door. She pointed toward a folded garment she had placed for him on the foot of the newly made bed. “You may put that on,” she said. “I think you’ll feel more comfortable in it.” She seemed not inclined to leave or turn away while he dressed, so he took it with him back into the bathroom.

  What she’d provided him was a short black tunic with a cloth belt. It was oddly flattering on him, as he saw from the full length mirror. Still, he would have rather had some underwear, pants and a shirt and a pair of good heavy boots to kick the shit out of anyone who got in his way when he made his move to escape. In the reflected image before him, the veins in his forehead were throbbing with anger.

  She was in her chair by the window when he came out, waiting for him. He stopped in front of her.

  “Why?” he said.

  She looked up. “Oh, as to that, it would take some time to explain.” Again her smile, slight, but unmistakable.

  “You defiled me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Could there be a reason for that?”

  She shrugged.

  “Tell me.”

  “In time.”

  He could hear the girls chattering in the next room, and the sounds of cutlery and glasses being set out.

  “What could you have possibly achieved?” He waited for her answer, glowering down at her.

  She thought over the question as if amused. Then, looking up again, said, “Pleasure.”

  “I see. And for that pleasure…”

  She held her had up to stop him. His voice trailed off, but she remained silent, looking up at him. Finally she said, “Pleasure. Utterly without sin.”

  “Without sin! How can you speak such vile nonsense? How can you think to treat a fellow human in such an unspeakable way and not incur sin? What the hell does sin mean if you are not bathed in it now?”

  “Oh I am bathed in sin, as you say. I am. I am covered with it, head to toe, body and soul. It is you who have had pleasure without sin. That is my gift to you.”

  “Do you think I enjoyed…?”

  “Oh, yes. I know you did. Not yo
ur foolish and confused little mind, but your body. It did not lie to me and it did not conceal anything.”

  Loren found himself flushing at the thought. “If you think of sin so much,” he said after a moment, “how can you bear to cover yourself with it?”

  “It’s simple,” she said, smiling again. “An unfortunate fact of life. You see, I am damned.” It was an obvious truth, explained to a backward school child. “So it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter at all. Incremental sin is of no relevance to the damned.”

  “This conversation is preposterous. Everything that has happened here is preposterous.”

  “It is?” Her expression was suddenly vacant. As before, he felt that she was looking at him without recognition. She seemed distracted.

  “You’re mad.” He said it softly, more to himself than to her. She appeared not to have heard.

  The dizziness had passed. He felt the force coming back into his muscles. And with it, a new resolve. If madness was what he had to deal with, he was up to it. That was going to be easier than what he had come expecting to face, an odd logic that would have been equal to but incompatible with his own. Simple madness was altogether preferable. That he could handle. He strode across the room to look down into the courtyard outside. There were lights moving there, at least a dozen people in evidence. He watched them intently, forgetting for the moment that she was behind him. He would need to know how many there were and what sort. The strength that was building up inside him required only that he not think at all of the events of the previous night. He sensed that even a moment of indulgence of those dark memories would leave him reduced. So he would not think of them at all. Ever again.