Laricon's Ways
By
Patricia Green
A Renaissance E Books publication
ISBN 1-58873-094-8
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2002 by Patricia Green
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission.
For information contact:
Renaissance E Books
P. O. Box 494
Clemmons, NC 27012-0494
USA
Email [email protected]
2120 CE
Chapter 1
The pedestrian tunnel was dark; the light at the other end muted by overhanging foliage and the general noxious miasma that seemed to gray everything in the old city. Nina shifted the grocery bags she carried and blew upward toward her forehead, trying to move the fluffy blonde bangs from in front of her eyes. No use; they were well moussed in place. Beneath her breath she cursed this new, frivolous hairstyle, vowing to have it cut into something more practical at the first opportunity. She went half-a-dozen more steps into the tunnel.
Sensing something, maybe someone unseen, she hesitated. Her brother Ted had warned her about this tunnel. People had disappeared from here, never to be heard from again. But there was no choice except to use the tunnel or go blocks out of her way. And "Nitro" Nina wasn't going to let a little thing like Ted's warning's keep her from doing what she perceived as the practical thing. Every little thing that could go wrong today had gone wrong, and she was damned if she was going to be late. Her date was going to arrive at her flat before she did if she didn't hurry. She moved onward.
One dirty gray overhead light shone weakly at the center of the tunnel, but did nothing to illuminate the creepy place. She thought she heard steps now, but could not determine their location. Her heart began to beat faster and again she shifted the grocery bags, quickening her steps and thinking about how she might defend herself with old Army training and three grocery bags. Yes, there were steps, perhaps three sets other than her own. Her heart was really beating a tattoo now, and she began to run, the bags slowing her usual graceful lope considerably.
Sweat trickled down Nina's spine and between her breasts as she hurried toward the open end of the tunnel. The footsteps weren't furtive now, but were easily keeping pace with her. She grit her teeth, primal fear mixing with self-preservation instinct. From in front of her a shadow moved and she knew, even as she gasped and came to a clumsy halt, that she was in deep trouble.
"Hey, lady," the man's voice snarled. He was only two-and-a-half meters in front of her but she couldn't quite make out his features yet.
"What do you want?" she demanded, trying to keep her voice modulated and not quite accomplishing it. "Let me pass! If you want my groceries or credits, I'll give them to you. Just let me go!"
He laughed, and the sound forced a frisson from Nina's tailbone to her scalp. The other footsteps had stopped just as the man came into view. His face was broad, his hair light brown, his eyes light, too, but she couldn't tell what color. He wore a thick moustache over his lip, and one side lifted as he grinned. "What do you think, boys?" he asked.
Nina looked over her shoulders and three other men stood nearby, all wearing the same tight-fitting jeans and pseudo-leather jacket as their leader. They smirked and shook their heads.
"Sorry, lady, but we're not interested in groceries," the headman said. "And you couldn't possibly have enough credits." He nodded and the three thugs behind her grabbed for Nina.
Her scream echoed in the tunnel, making the headman cringe, but he didn't move. She swung her grocery bags, hoping forlornly that they'd do some damage to any of the three who reached for her arms. Milk splattered all over the nearest tunnel wall and ran down into a puddle, and rice spilled out onto the concrete making Nina's feet slip around, but the thugs weren't slowed at all. She struggled against their hands, kicked at their shins and tried to stomp on their feet. There were just too many of them, and their preparation far outweighed her old, unused training. One stuffed a cloth into her mouth and her scream was abruptly cut off. Another pulled her arms behind her roughly, as the third managed to catch hold of her kicking legs lifting her off the pavement.
She felt plastic cuffs tighten around her wrists and ankles, and a scarf tied around her face to keep the gag in her mouth. The headman smiled, his white teeth a cruel juxtaposition of how he looked to what he'd done. He approached and looked at her more closely. He found the zipper of her tunic and pulled it down, then whistled as her brassiere-covered breasts were exposed. "I'd say we have a winner here, boys." His hand slid in to cup a large, firm breast, the nipple hard with fear and cold, and Nina flailed uselessly against the men who held her. He worked his hand down into her elastic-waist pants next, right into her thong panties and over her downy pubic mound. She felt that invasive hand move over her lower lips. The man smiled ferally at her discomfort, his eyes on hers as he felt around.
"Soft," he said.
Fuck you! Nina's eyes replied.
"Let's keep this one for a day or two, Rock," one of the men holding Nina suggested. "Looks like she's got nice, big, bouncy tits. I wouldn't mind burying my face right between them for an hour or two, while I–"
"No," the leader said, interrupting his man's reverie. The hand was slowly withdrawn from Nina's pants, and skimmed over her breasts again before he zipped closed her tunic.
"But Rock," another voice whined.
The leader's eyes left Nina's to glare at his gang. "You guys are so stupid that you don't know a sack of credits when it's handed to you."
Nina could feel the men stiffen behind her.
"This little jewel is gonna get us that flyer we've wanted so we can get off this shitty planet."
"You think so, Rock?"
"Yeah, I think so. Greg, you carry first." He turned and led the group, now with Nina flung over a thug's shoulder, out of the tunnel.
"This was a piece of cake!" one man enthused.
"Cheesecake!" another one offered. They all laughed.
***
Nina slid down the wall in a dusty corner, wondering how long it would take to get to wherever the thugs were taking her. So far they hadn't raped her, or really even spoken to her except to order her down a ladder and into this cell. It could be worse, she figured. She could hear voices outside of the aluminum-walled cell, and someone was crying loudly, begging to be let go. Nina understood how the other woman felt, but she wasn't ready to beg yet.
She rubbed at the faint marks on her wrists and ankles, knowing that freeing her hands and feet meant that the thugs were no longer concerned about her potentially getting away. Two years in the Command Security Reserves during the Martian uprising of 2113 had prepared her for quite a few different situations. While putting down the uprising, CS troops, including Nina, had to be ready for potential capture, even torture. It had never happened to Nina, but the old training was still there, even six years later. She was no longer in training shape, as her rubbery muscles attested. Being a teacher didn't require being totally buff, she thought wryly.
Once acceleration had stopped, the ride to wherever was quiet and smooth, and Nina dozed lightly. Sometime later, a plastic bag was dropped down through the ceiling hole. Food. Nina wasn't particularly hungry; her stomach actually knotted at the smell of the sandwiches and fruit, but it seemed wise to do what she could to keep her strength up. Also in the bag was a military-issue female pee-bottle and dark-blue sheet of paper – a "shit kit" they'd called it in the Army – which she used uncomfortably. This all happened four more times during the transport.
A change in speed and course awakened her, and she felt the ship dock with a slight bump. She didn't know what day it was, nor what time as the fluorescent lights
in the cell never changed from bright illumination, but her pulse accelerated with the knowledge that something different was about to transpire.
About ten minutes later, the overhead door to her cell opened and a uniformed man lowered a ladder. "Climb up the ladder," he said. "And don't make a fuss. I'm not in the mood for fusses today." He smacked a small riding crop against his palm to make his point.
Nina nodded and climbed up. There were five other women, two captive men, and four guards armed with stunners in the outer chamber. The captives looked at each other with varying degrees of fear, fight, and surrender. Nina held her chin up. She didn't know what this was about, but she'd be damned if she would just go like a lamb to the slaughter.
They were led out of the ship and into the spaceport very briefly. Nina didn't recognize the small port, which was no surprise to her as she hadn't been off Earth in six years, and then only to Mars. There was an L inside a circle on several walls, but that didn't mean anything to her either. It was probably a private port for some rich jerk. They went through a set of double doors and down a long white hallway.
Several uniformed people passed the group, but they spared not a single glance at the captives.
The group turned left and went up a small ramp, then through a door with a guard stiffly serving sentry duty. This one did look over the captives, smiled and nodded at the sergeant. The guard nodded. "Last one for the day, Sarge," he commented.
"I'm just glad we made it in time," the sergeant replied, following the prisoners into the large, sterile white room.
"Let's clean 'em up," the sergeant ordered. "But hurry it up. We're running late."
The guards pointed their stunners at the captives and the group marched through the only open door. There were three big sonic showers on one wall, a mirror, mesh box of grooming implements, and two toilets on another. There was another door, but it was closed and the sergeant moved immediately to stand in front of it – obviously another exit. The door from the hall was closed and locked behind them.
"This is one of my favorite parts," the sergeant said to a guard nearby. "Catch the looks on their faces." He turned to the prisoners authoritatively. "Strip. Now!"
Nina and the other captives looked around in confusion. One of the women, a svelte red-head, said, "Go to hell!" Nina crossed her arms over her chest in defiant solidarity.
The sergeant sighed melodramatically. "If that's how you want it." He nodded to two guards and they moved forward to take the red-haired woman's arms while another guard systematically tore her clothes off as she screamed, cursed, and kicked. Any other captive who made a move to help her was threatened summarily with a stunner. Once the woman was nude, the guards held her in place while the sergeant approached.
"Disobedience will be punished. Best you remember that, bitch," he said. Without warning, he delivered a sharp, stinging smack with his riding crop to each of the woman's light pink nipples. She screamed and began to cry, first arching in agony, then sagging in the guards' hold. Her nipples turned crimson as a weal of bright red striped across them.
The sergeant stepped back. "I hope you all understand. Now strip."
The guards threw the sagging woman into a sonic shower while the rest of the prisoners disrobed hastily. Nina was directed into the shower with the red-haired woman, and the other showers were filled with sets of two prisoners as well. The captive men stood nearby, apparently waiting their turn.
After the sonic pulse had done its job, the prisoners were ordered out and over to the grooming area. "If you have to pee, go now," the sergeant commanded. "You won't get another chance for several hours."
Although they felt like dogs before their masters, most of the prisoners took the opportunity to use the toilets, all thoughtfully looking away from each other as they did so. It was a small consolation to modesty.
They were commanded to groom, using deodorant wands and hair brushes as necessary. The sergeant nodded with pleasure as he inspected them when they were done. As he walked by each, he waved a medical scanner over them.
He stopped before a whip-thin young man with dark hair and eyes, looking him over carefully. "Martial arts?" he asked succinctly, nodding at the man's taught biceps.
"Yes," the man replied quietly.
"Too bad," said the sergeant. "Too dangerous. You'll probably end up as field labor, whereas you might have been in a household if you were just buff. Of course, there's always the possibility that some old fart will be looking for a new boy-toy." He laughed heartily.
The man tensed. "You can't just keep us like this. This is kidnapping! You'll be caught and sent to jail, you know!"
The sergeant smiled. "Don't be an imbecile. No one knows where you are. We don't plan to ask for a ransom. After a while it'll be too much bureaucratic annoyance to pursue you. You might as well just get used to your new role in life." He moved along the line. "You're slaves. All of you. Deal with it."
The other male captive was scanned and the sergeant frowned. "You've got a sex disease."
The man went pale. "No … I don't. I couldn't have."
The sergeant snorted. "The scanner doesn't lie, bud." He turned to the nearest guard. "This one's useless."
Without even a blink of hesitation, the guard changed the setting on his stunner and shot the captive. The man fell heavily to the floor. The big burn on his chest and smell of charred flesh made it clear that he was dead.
The red-haired woman and one other began to sob, but the sergeant paid them no mind, moving down the line to Nina. He looked her up and down carefully. "This one's the cream of the crop," he said to the guard nearby. "Collar and cuffs even match," he pointed out, referring to her blonde pubic hair and the blonde curls trailing down her back. He reached out to touch her breast and she flinched away, growling under her breath. "Feisty, too, but not stupid," he said, as though she was an object rather than a person. His eyes caught her furious blue ones. "Let me give you a little bit of advice, Blondie," he said with a smirk. "Don't flinch away from the buyers. Growl if you must – they'll like that some – but let 'em touch. If you don't, you're useless. They'll give you to the troops to use and you'll be dead in a week … or wish you were."
"Move 'em out," he ordered, and the guards prodded the prisoners forward as the sergeant opened the exit door. The exit led to another wide, brightly lit, white hallway where they were ordered to stand against the wall. A tram drove by, its single open car holding a group of ten nude men and eight guards. Nina didn't get a very good look, but she thought she'd seen that some of the men were bruised and black-eyed, as though they'd had to learn their place the hard way.
The next tram was empty, and Nina's group was ordered to board and sit down quietly. The guards boarded as well, their stunners pointed casually at the prisoners.
It was about a five-minute ride, Nina estimated, through the tramway, and the air got progressively colder as they went. Her nipples peaked, as did everyone else's, and soon they were hugging themselves and rubbing their naked arms to try and keep warm. The guards, of course, were perfectly comfortable in their navy blue uniforms and caps.
When the tram stopped they were each ordered to debark, and a green plastic anklet was attached to their left ankles. Then they were split up. The male captive was taken in one direction and the women another. Although they hadn't gotten to know each other, it sent a murmur of fright through the women around Nina to have had part of the group split off.
The room the women were brought to was just as white and featureless as all the other rooms so far, but it did have some twenty other women present. There were no chairs, so they sat around on the floor as best they could, generally trying to sit modestly though all were naked except for the plastic anklets of various colors.
Of the twenty-five women, Nina counted ten with green anklets, six with yellow, six with blue, and three with pink. She looked at her anklet carefully and read the small print: "Excelsior Group." She made a mental note of the printing on the other anklets she co
uld see as well. It might come in handy.
Although it was cold in the room, the body heat of all those women in a small space made it bearable. Soon enough, a guard opened the door at the far end and called the pink group out. The rest of the women went absolutely silent, wondering what the fate of the pink ankleted women might be, and their own fate as their color was called.
They waited about half-an-hour before the door opened again. "Green," the guard called, and ten women stood up. He turned to consult with a superior just outside the door. "Too many in Excelsior. Want me to split 'em up?" Nina heard a muffled "no," and the guard nodded, turning back into the room. "Come on, Green, let's get movin'."
The ten women were led in a single-file line out into a noisy auditorium. They each tried to cover themselves with their hands for modesty but, of course, it was of little help. The auditorium was smoky with tobacco and other weeds, making the number of persons present hard to estimate. Still, Nina thought maybe there were two hundred in the theatre-in-the-round style room. The women prisoners went up three stairs and onto a stage in the middle of the audience. There were guards positioned solidly around the bottom of the stage. The lights were harsh on the prisoners, making the audience impossible to see clearly. The women crowded together on the little platform and the auction began.
***
"Well now, sir, there's one worthy of you," Ed Walker, a tall, broad, ebony skinned man said.
The man referred to as The Great Man looked up to the stage. Jerold Laricon was his name, and the majority of the surface of the moon they were on – Jupiter's Ganymede – was his. His by fiat, by force, and by subterfuge. He was gray-haired, his face wrinkled heavily at the eyes and around his mouth, making him look even older than his 74 years. His hazel eyes were cold and calculating, like the man behind them.
"Which one, Edward?"
Walker pointed. "The blonde with the big tits, sir."
Behind the old man, a younger fellow spoke up, his voice irritable. "She's too old, Father. You need a younger, more trainable woman. Why not just take one from The Farm? This is all a waste of time." The young man toyed with the edges of his light brown moustache as he slouched on his cushiony chair.
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