by M. D. Cooper
“Of course, sir.” The maître d’ turned and led them into the club. “A very impressive display of dance and song from a woman bearing the name Melody, if I’m not mistaken. Would you like to sit with the general?”
“No, a private table this evening,” Stavros requested firmly. “I plan to have a chat with my new acquisition here.”
“Of course, sir.”
Stavros was seated at a semi-circular table near the back on a raised platform. It provided a clear line of sight above the heads of the other patrons to the stage at the far side of the room.
Silva took up a position at his side, and Stavros gestured for Rika to sit.
“Take off your helmet, Rika. It’ll be nice to actually eat with one of you. Later we can put your mouth to other uses.”
Rika grimaced at the memory, but understood that this was all part of Stavros’s process. Break her down, build her up, break her down, build her up, until the first thing on her mind was fear of punishment for her mistakes, and expectation of reward for good behavior.
Not that it would work on her. Not this quickly, at least, and certainly not while Niki was present to protect her from the Discipline.
Rika pulled her helmet off and set it on the seat, looking out over the crowd with her own eyes, observing the generals and admirals and a hundred other officers.
Her GNR rested across her lap; one quick motion, and she could kill half the men and women in here. It would only take five shots from her electron beam to wipe out a good portion of The Politica’s elite. Why Stavros had come here tonight and not tomorrow—his customary day—was beyond her.
Despite Rika’s desire to end the charade, she had to wait for Barne’s results. There was also the matter of the inbound fleets; if they came in on schedule, they wouldn’t arrive for another twenty hours.
Rika would just have to grit her teeth and suffer through another day of this human refuse’s presence. I’ve been through worse. I can manage this. One more day.
“What do you eat, Rika?” Stavros asked. “When you can have anything, that is.”
“I’m partial to cheeseburgers,” Rika replied. “Angus, medium, sharp cheese, and spicy.”
“Ah, well then, I recommend the Galactic South. It’s a staple here at the club. I believe I’ll have the seared tuna; it’s a fresh catch from the planet every day, you know.”
“How wonderful for you,” Rika replied, and received a pinch for her sass.
“It is, yes. It’s good to be in charge. You wouldn’t know that, of course; you’ve never been in charge of anything.”
Rika ignored his comment as their waitress approached the table. After a nervous titter, she began to rattle off the chef’s specials, before Stavros stopped her with a wave of his hand.
“I don’t care what he’s made that he thinks is ‘extra especial’ today. Bring my usual wine, and the tuna just the way I like it. Rika here will have the Galactic South Burger. Medium.”
The waitress didn’t even glance at Rika as she nodded and rushed off.
“She should know better by now,” Stavros muttered.
Rika was about to come to the waitress’s defense when the emcee strode onto the stage and announced the return of ‘The Stunning Lady Melody’.
He walked off as a saxophone began to play, and then a jet-black woman with a cat’s tail, ears, and…whiskers?...danced her way across the stage. Rika’s visual scan couldn’t get a direct match to Leslie, but there was no way it was anyone else.
Is this how they got so close? Booking a performance at the officer’s club?
Leslie began to sing, and Rika’s jaw dropped. She had no idea that her team’s scout could make such an amazing sound. Her voice was beautiful, haunting, and mesmerizing all at once.
“She’s something else,” Stavros claimed, as the waitress returned and poured a splash of wine for Stavros to approve before she carefully added more to his goblet and then to Rika’s.
“I’ll admit, I’m impressed,” Rika replied, echoing her AI’s sentiment.
Following her statement, they sat in silence, sipping their wine and watching Leslie dance and twirl on the stage. She stood on only the toes of her right foot at one point, with her other leg bent backward until it touched the middle of her back.
Her tail flicked side to side, and she began to spin while singing. Then, in a move so fast Rika could barely discern it, she leapt into the air and landed on her other foot, not missing a beat, before sliding to the ground, laying prone for a moment, and then rising up on her finger tips, her legs pointed into the air.
Stars, she’s wasted with us. This is what Leslie is meant to do. She’s breathtaking.
“Now that is something you don’t see every day,” Stavros commented. “I just checked with the stage manager; there are no grav fields. She’s doing that the old-fashioned way. Her voice alone would make her worth possessing, but this…this is something else.”
Rika only had a moment to consider her options.
It would be better to have Leslie on the outside, not stuck in Stavros’s bedroom as his latest plaything. But it’s far too soon to blow our cover.
Leslie performed three songs, and then the crowd called for an encore. She sang another, one with a cello and drums, that a nearby patron said was the first she had performed earlier in the evening.
Rika had to admit: the song, music, and dance were all utterly intoxicating. If someone had told her that the club was using pheromones and subliminals to subvert her mind, she would have readily believed them.
She looked at Stavros, who was just as transfixed. He didn’t even notice when his food was placed on the table before him.
Leslie tried to leave the stage after her encore performance, but the crowd rose up, demanding a second. The emcee came out and quelled the near riot, letting them know that the Lady Melody would do one last song, and then she would be joining Stavros at his table.
Rika saw several heads turn and direct reluctant gazes back at the basileus in resignation. She wondered how many of The Politica elite had set their sights on Leslie, only to have their hopes dashed when their leader laid his claim.
Leslie’s final song was about a valiant but lonely hunter who crossed the stars in search of the most ferocious and elusive prey. Even though he gained joy in bringing down his targets, he felt empty afterward. And while he had many women, none of them brought him happiness. Then came his final hunt—which was for a woman—and with that woman, he fell in love.
Yet in the end, the hunter killed the woman he loved. He shot her one stormy night; his tears mixed with the rain as he pulled the trigger. As she died in his arms, she forgave him, admitting she knew that her end would come at his hands.
He was a hunter, after all, and she was his prey.
Rika saw more than one hard-bitten veteran wipe their cheeks as Leslie’s song came to a conclusion. Rika glanced at Stavros, noting that even he seemed somewhat moved.
After the last notes of the song faded away, and the crowd had risen to its feet, cheering and praising Leslie’s every virtue, she was escorted from the stage to Stavros’s table.
<
br /> Rika still had trouble reconciling the Lady Melody with Leslie. The tail and ears were only the beginning; everything about her, from her gait to the way she moved her hands as she walked, even the way her eyes shifted, her gaze roving across the room, seemed separate from the woman she had come to know.
Lady Melody/Leslie was unshod, and walked on the balls of her feet across the club; her long, curved toenails clicking on the floor with each step. It was as though she were stalking Stavros—ready to attack the moment she was in range.
If it weren’t for the fact that Rika had just seen Chase in the corridor, she would have strongly doubted that the woman approaching them now was Leslie.
But there was no chance of a coincidence that large.
She tore her gaze from Leslie and looked to Stavros. The hunger in his eyes was unmistakable, and Rika wondered how much further Leslie would be willing to go for this job.
“Lady Melody,” Stavros greeted her once Leslie reached the table. “Please, sit with us, have a glass of wine.”
“You’re most gracious,” Leslie purred as she draped her tail over her left arm and sat. “I trust that you enjoyed my performance?”
Stavros nodded. “It was truly inspired. We have many excellent singers in The Politica, but I do not know if any are quite so talented as you. I understand that you hail from Septhia.”
Leslie nodded. “Only of late; I received my training in Ayrea, at the Academy of Terran Arts.”
The waitress reappeared and poured a glass of wine for Leslie, which she swirled, smelled, and sipped with her pouting lips.
“You took to your studies with astute dedication, then,” Stavros observed once she had set her glass down. “I would say that you are even more adept at them than your spycraft.”
“My what?” Leslie asked, appearing genuinely surprised.
Stavros laughed. “Please. There is not a single thing about you that would have caused me to consider that you are working with Rika—though now I suspect that you’re the same woman who came down the ramp with her when she returned my Amy to me.
“And yet, I am more than certain you are she. What you don’t realize is that I studied Rika extensively before I sought her out. The Marauders keep secrets very well, so I know little about Rika’s current team, but I do know what Rika did before she joined the Marauders.”
“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” Rika admitted cautiously, genuinely perplexed. “I was a mech in the Genevian military. This isn’t a secret.”
“Right,” Stavros nodded. “However, afterward, you spent some time slinging cargo on Dekar Station in a place known as ‘Hal’s Hell’. The man we passed in the corridor earlier worked with you there. Chase, I believe his name was? So much for your murder spree, Rika. Pity. That was a big selling point.”
“Shit,” Rika muttered.
How long has Stavros been seeking after me? Is he this obsessed with all the mechs he hunts, or is there something special about Silva and me?
Stavros grunted a laugh. “I don’t know what the two of you are playing at, but I think it will be fun to find out.”
“If this is your way of attempting to become my patron, it won’t work,” Leslie said, still in character. “I am here under contract, as a guest, to perform for you and your officers. I do not know this mech, and I do not know Case, Dekar, or anything else you’ve gone on about.”
Leslie made to rise, but Silva was there in an instant, her hand clamped around the slender woman’s neck.
“Not too hard, Meat,” Stavros requested. “She has a lot of singing to do for her supper. Take her to the lab and get her chipped.”
Silva marched Leslie out of the club without hesitation, and Stavros turned to Rika. “Amy has always wanted a kitty; I think Lady Melody will make a fine pet for her. Once we trim those claws, of course.”
“You’re a fucking bastard,” Rika growled at Stavros and felt a flurry of pinches dance across her body. She was tempted to ignore them, to kill Stavros here and now.
Thoughts of killing this man were almost a full-time job.
Rika knew Niki was right, but before she managed to fake the anguish she should be feeling, an explosion shook the club, and flames shot out across the stage.
AFTERMATH
STELLAR DATE: 04.03.8949 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Politica Senior Officer’s Club, The Isthmus, Sparta
REGION: Peloponnese System, The Politica, Praesepe Cluster
“Think Patty got out safely?” Chase worried aloud as he followed Barne down a maintenance shaft near the club.
“Chase, seriously. What do you take me for? I told Patty to leave the pinnace a half hour before Leslie did her first set. She’s been shopping on one of the upper concourses. I dropped a message for her to meet us at the secondary fallback point the moment you got the handoff from Rika.”
Barne stopped at a narrow service platform, and Chase dropped down beside him. “You’re a suspicious bastard, aren’t you?” he noted conversationally.
“It’s a survival trait,” Barne replied. “Get ready to activate your fallback tokens. The moment we step out of this tunnel, we’re Gerard and Simon; two traders who are scouting locations for a new warehouse and distribution chain.”
“Got it,” Chase acknowledged. “This skulking stuff really isn’t my forte, you know.”
Barne chuckled. “Yeah, I know.”
It took them nearly an hour to reach the secondary fallback point. Barne insisted on stopping and researching several locations their pseudo shipping company would be interested in.
Chase spent more time than he should have worrying about Rika. Seeing her with Stavros, with that eye painted on her helmet…it was more than unnerving. He hoped that when she came back to him, she would be undamaged.
This sort of undercover operation had more than one type of risk.
When they arrived at the fallback, Chase was not surprised to see that it was a small storage facility in a less trafficked area of The Isthmus. Barne’s specialty.
Patty was already waiting for them, and stood up when they entered, a look of relief flooding her features.
“Stars, I was about to hit you up on the Link, but I didn’t have your new tokens. You two worried me!”
“Was best that way,” Barne explained. “We’re here now, though.”
“What’s next?” Chase asked Barne, switching into damage control mode. “Do we get Leslie out?”
Patty’s eyes widened. “What happened to Leslie?”
Barne shook his head. “She got caught; freeing her is Rika’s job now. My job is to crack this encryption—which I hope I can do with this gear we shipped in ahead of time. Based on the Marauder and Septhian Fleet’s ETA, I have seventeen hours to do it and get that data to Rika. You two have to secure us another ride off this thing, because you can bet they’ve impounded the pinnace by now.”
“I kinda liked that ship,” Patty sulked. “My squadron commander is gonna get pissed at how many ships I keep losing.”
“Well, when we take down the entire Politica, I bet she’ll forgive you,” Chase offered. “Think of all the ships they have.”
“That’s the spirit!” Barne replied and slapped Chase on the back. “Now help me go through these crates. There’s a quantum comp in here that should be able to churn through Stavros’s encryption.”
* * * * *
Stavros walked through the ruins of the club’s green room, kicking aside debris and muttering under his breath. They walked past the corpse of the stage manager, and the dictator turned to glared at Rika.
“Your friends are going to pay for this…starting with your cat girl. If singing is so important to her, maybe I’ll start by cutting out her tong
ue; vocal chords, too. Then I’ll deafen her. A life with no sound seems like a fitting punishment.”
“I thought you were going to give her to Amy?” Rika asked, forcing her voice to come out calm and even. I’m not going to let Stavros rile me up—that’s just what he wants.
The basileus chuckled. “I’ll still do that. After I make it so that she can only make soft mewling sounds.” His eyes narrowed, and he continued. “I know how I’ll do it, too. Once her chip is in, and once I get a few more performances out of her, I’ll make her cut out her own tongue and slice open her own throat. You know how much Discipline hurts; you can make a person do anything.”
Rika shook her head and gave Stavros a patronizing smile. “You know, real leaders earn love from their people. It’s a lot more powerful than fear.”
“Says who?” Stavros snarled, and Rika felt her skin blaze from the pinches Niki delivered.
Rika threw her head back and clawed at her face, tearing a pair of deep scratches down her cheeks. Then she bit her tongue and spat the blood out of her mouth.
The pinches stopped, and Rika fell to her knees surrounded by the piles of charred rubble. The corpse of some dancer was in front of her, and Rika found herself staring into the woman’s dead eyes.
“Look at me,” Stavros growled.
Rika slowly raised her head to see a smarmy smile on Stavros’s lips.
“I own you. I’m giving you the freedom of a face and speech because it amuses me. But what I give, I can take away; you’d do well to remember that.”
Rika gave a defeated nod, doing her best to ignore the self-inflicted pain and the sorrow she felt for the dead woman in front of her.
