Pleasure Dome

by L. F. Hampton

  "Soledad doesn't want you to go to Hydra.” Her words came on a quickened breath. The prison's name brought a rush of blood and violence to her memories, and again Gabe felt her struggle to compose her internal thoughts.

  "How do you know about my mission?” Gabriel just managed to contain his shock. Had she read his mind? Did she have empathic or telepathic abilities? He caught enough of the dancer's memories to know there were violent hidden depths to her that no one, except perhaps Sol, saw.

  de’ Marco smirked before answering. “Your men talk when they're drinking, Commander."

  "Damn it, I knew I shouldn't have given them R&R in the damned Straits.” Gabe screwed his fist into his other palm before letting out a breath. He paused, automatically gathered his thoughts like a diplomat then frowned. An awful suspicion lingered in the back of his mind, swirled there like an ominous fog. He frowned at the dancer. “What does Sol know about Hydra?"

  "No more than I do.” de'Marco's flat inflection gave no hint to her thoughts, but he caught the great whirlwind of darkness that filled her. But no one would guess it to look at her. Her sculptured features didn't change expression. Her cold, black eyes gave a slow blink. Gabe couldn't read a thing beyond the endless black.

  "And just what do you know?” He leaned forward, almost in her face.

  "I ... was there. Sol rescued me—and the other dancers who were there with me.” Her words bore a hollow ache.

  "Oh—my—god.” Gabe reeled back and nearly lost his position on the desk. Chills rose on his arms. An awful roil erupted in his stomach, and he nearly spewed his drink. “Sol was the Guild captain who disobeyed standing orders and landed on Hydra in 1251,” he breathed, wonder evident in his voice.

  "Yeah.” de’ Marco nodded, her complexion gone to a muddy brown in recall. “I'm alive today because Captain Soledad Scott risked court-martial and death to save a few whores who had the misfortune to crash-land on Hydra.” She downed the rest of her whiskey in one gulp. Her haunted eyes filled, and she blinked against moisture several times before continuing with a defiant glare. “I'm only telling you this because she asked me to keep you from going there."

  "She was never advanced because of her disobedience,” Gabe whispered. He barely saw de’ Marco's image beyond his swirling thoughts. Everything about Sol's discharge without advancement upon retirement became clear now.

  "Yeah, the Guild let her keep her commission on the condition she never spoke of Hydra. They transferred her crew and rotated new ones every year for the rest of her career. Big of them, huh?” de’ Marco rattled the ice in her glass suggestively. “They thought they'd keep her sense of command on a tight rein; new crews would never give her the loyalty of the old ones.” She snorted. “Of course, they were wrong. The military grapevine told its own version of the battle. And the tales they told...” The dancer shook her head, a faint smile lifting her thinned lips. “To this day, the honorable Soledad Scott commands loyalty from the minute you meet her.” de’ Marco sucked a lone ice cube and frowned longingly into her glass.

  Gabe finally acted on her not so subtle hints and refilled it. He also refilled his own. He had a feeling he was going to need most of the bottle before they were done. He didn't bother with ice; he just sat down behind his desk. His legs felt weak. “Tell me about Hydra—all of it,” he ordered then added, softly, “Please. I need to know."

  "Yeah, I suppose you do. That's why I came.” Gellico de’ Marco pushed back in her chair and uncrossed her legs. She recrossed, then uncrossed them again, and stood. She began pacing the small confines of the room almost in the same pattern that Gabe usually did. Her voice lowered to a feral growl. She had no idea that Gabe felt her pain. And there was a lot of pain. He felt even sicker than before, and several times he swallowed sour whiskey that rose unbidden in his throat. The drink tasted better going down the first time.

  "Altogether, there were a hundred and twenty of us, not counting Aladdin and the crew on board the Scheherazade. We were a traveling Arabian Nights show and had just finished a tour in the ring of Brittany's Skirt when our turbo drive mysteriously failed. We drifted for days, way off course, out into the Rim. We crash landed on Hydra over the advice of the captain. But we had no choice, what with the damaged drive system and all.” She waved her long fingers. “All of us knew that the prison was off limits; that only convicts were there, just waiting to steal a ship with technology so they could escape. But what total dumb asses we were. We should have taken our chances on blowing up in space.” Her tirade ran down, and she snorted and gave him a mocking, pathetic grin. “Well, it was too bad for the convicts, too. Our ship didn't have enough tech left after the crash to make a good bonfire.” She paused, then mutteredto herself. “We all would have been better off to have died in the wreck."

  Gabe shuddered at the bleakness that drained the light from Gellico's eyes, leaving them dulled like those of a wounded animal's. He no longer thought of her as an impersonal acquaintance, as the dancer named de’ Marco. He felt her pain, lived in her nightmares, but Gabe didn't say a word. After all, what could he say? After a moment of composing herself, Gellico continued.

  "The surviving crew set an SOS beacon and fought off the convicts for as long as they could.” She paused in her pacing, took a breath, and Gabe gulped too. Luckily, Gellico didn't see and continued her low litany. “The convicts killed all the men first, even the few left who surrendered. Then, afterward, we women became the property of the winners in the battle of ownership.” She nodded her thanks at Gabe's refill and drank the entire contents in one noisy swallow. A visible shudder went through her entire body before she lifted her tortured gaze. Gabe hid his own shiver at the reflected nightmare.

  "Do you know who the inmates of Hydra are, Commander?"

  Gabe shrugged and repeated what he knew from his reports. “Until five or so star years ago, hardened criminals were sent there in lieu of death.” His miserly reports stated that monthly supplies were dropped from space, and that no contact whatsoever was ever made with the inmates. The Guild government supplied food, clothing and medicines, but the convicts supplied the rest, the survival skills ... if they had any.

  Gellico snorted and smiled, if you could call the faint twisting of her lips a smile. Her dry voice rasped with wry bitterness. “Hydra is home to the criminally insane, Commander—the psychopaths, the sociopaths, the deviant torturers of children, and the murderers that the government wanted to dispose of humanely.” Her hollow laugh rang near hysterical before she shook her head. She rolled the heavy, empty tumbler across her brow then she paced some more. “It's possible some political opponents and military personnel have ended up there, too, but not enough of them to matter. Nothing innocent survives there for long. And nothing sane survives Hydra.” She glared at him, and Gabe felt his balls draw up closer to his body in search of protection.

  He cleared the tightness from his throat. “How long were you there before Soledad came?” Again, he filled both their glasses. This was the last of his contraband whiskey, but it would have never seen better use.

  "Forty-three days.” Gellico nodded her appreciation and lifted her glass toward him in a mocking toast. “Forty-three glorious days in hell."

  "How many survivors were left—after Sol's rescue?” Gabe wanted so very much to comfort the stiff, weaving woman who stood with her feet braced wide apart and hid such awful pain inside. He would probably have drawn back a bloody stump if he so much as offered his hand. Never had he felt such desolation and despair. And never, since his mother's death, had he known such strength and courage in females as in Soledad and Gellico.

  "By the time the battle ended, there were five of us women still standing with Soledad and her Marines.” She flashed another evil-looking grin. “When the fighting began, and we knew a rescue attempt was being made, we women grabbed whatever we could and began battering our way out of the caves and huts the convicts called quarters. Some of us had fought before, only to be maimed or to die. For gods’ sakes
, we began as simple dancers; we ended up as crazy as the convicts. After we landed there, death, for some, was the goal, but the convicts were smart. Like the smart of cunning rats, you know? They did everything to keep us available for their needs. Some of the more rebellious women were hamstrung to keep them from running. Some died as used-up cripples in their beds. The strong psychopaths ruled.” Her eyes glittered dangerously.

  Gabe did know. Some of the alien species he had dealt with in the past showed some of that same deceptive cunning. They even fooled an empath. At times, he had lost good people to the treachery of winning a peaceful settlement only to see it collapse in deceit. But only five women survived Hydra out of a hundred and twenty?

  Gabe fought the glimpses of horror emanating from Gellico. “What happened in the rescue?” His harsh voice sounded strange to his hearing.

  "Oh—” Gellico laughed that borderline hysterical laugh again. “Sol came in, guns blazing and saved the day.” Her mocking smile died. Her features hardened into ebony. “If not for her and her Marine crew, all of us would have died there. And, Commander—” Her eyes blazed. “—I didn't want to end my days without taking some of those bastards with me. Sol lost thirty of her Marines before we were able to fight our way back to her ship, but she never complained about the ratio. To my knowledge, neither did the remaining Marines.” She paused, lowered her head, and said in a soft, wondering voice, “Sol took full responsibility—the blame. Her crew just followed her orders. They became military heroes, given medals of valor for duty above and beyond and transferred out of her command. But Sol has never complained about her loss of advancement."

  "No. She wouldn't, would she.” Gabe's low reply wasn't a question.

  Gellico lifted her head. “You do know what it cost her to ask me to come here to you, don't you?"

  "Yeah, I know.” Gabe nodded and frowned at his empty glass. “Just as I know what it does to you to talk to me about Hydra.” He nearly choked on the name—a monster out of legend that sported multiple, treacherous heads. So fitting.

  Gellico rested her measuring stare on him before she folded back into her chair with all the grace of her former position. Just as before, the lucky seat hugged her contours. She gave him a steady look then snorted. “You don't know a fucking thing, Commander. I'm sure you don't know shit about the situation. If you did, you wouldn't even consider going."

  He held up openhanded palms. “What can I say? The convicts have launched a homemade rocket to a Spacing Guild vessel with a message offering a desire to trade supplies and a plea to put an end to their suffering. They've been through hell for years. They say they've established an honorable governing body. The Guild wants the situation investigated, the planet's violent past closed."

  "Trade what?” The dancer jumped to her feet. He read the anger flying from her in ionic waves. Her breasts swayed, dangerously close to escaping the narrow strip of fabric, but she didn't notice, and probably wouldn't have cared if she had. Gabe felt the potent whiskey loosening her inhibitions. Her nostrils flared. “There isn't shit on that place worth trading except rotting bones. They brought on their suffering themselves, the bastards.” Her dark eyes blazed.

  "Maybe so.” He nodded and ignored her mocking snort. “Evidently, they have something worth trading now.” Gabe walked back behind his desk and picked up the meager report, complete with aerial photos. “The present group leaders have started vegetable and fruit farming from their recycled food seeds. Hydra offers fertile soil for farming. They want to trade their agricultural success for some livestock. My superiors want it investigated."

  "It's a trick.” Gellico looked forlornly at the bottom of her glass. Gabe shrugged and pointed to the empty decanter. Gellico pouted and stalked around the room.

  She turned as he said, “Perhaps it is a trick, but the Guild colonies need fresh supplies such as these. You know we can never get enough for all the colonies. And my superiors want to close this embarrassment. Make the problem of acknowledging these prisoners and their treatment go away."

  "Why now? Why, after all these years?” Gellico still prowled the room, much like a confined feline. Gabe felt the dancer's violence coiled around her like a spring. She glared at him. “Do you know that those in authority didn't even acknowledge the deaths of my dancers? They just didn't care. After all, we were just pleasure toys."

  "I'm sorry for that, Gellico.” Gabe said her name softly and meant every word he spoke. He willed her to understand. “Maybe they didn't care, not then. Then, again, maybe some did and didn't want to rock the boat. But with the new election coming...” He let his words trail off before adding, “They don't tell me the reasons why—most of the time. I just follow orders. I'm only the peace negotiator."

  "Just the peacemaker, huh? Yeah, diplomatic ass-kissing sure does suck.” She sighed and dropped her chin. She stared at the floor. Gabe felt her renewed strength when her head lifted. She had sent her nightmare curving back into the darkness of her mind. Her hard, ebony glare met his. “Sol told me something of your work.” Gellico sat down on the corner of Gabe's desk in the same position he had used earlier. And in a similar manner, she leaned forward so she was near his face and swung one long, boot-clad foot, tantalizingly close to him. In the passing air, he could smell her warm scent, something wild, filled with exotic spices—dangerous to say the least—enticing to be sure. “Well, if you're hell-bent on going, Merriweather, I guess I'd better go too."

  "Why?” Gabe, reeling from shock, couldn't think of one reason why the dancer would want to help him. It was evident that she didn't trust or even like him. And the next fearful leap her heart gave nearly undid him.

  "Because—” Gellico leaned closer, her breasts again in danger of escaping the scrap of silk that barely covered them. “Sol loves you, you ass, and I love Sol, so I'll be going along to protect your diplomatic butt."

  His inner self rejoiced with the news that Sol loved him, but Gabe kept his face impassive. “What makes you such a good protective prospect?"

  The words had barely left his mouth before Gellico stood before him with a laser needle in one hand and a butterfly switchblade in the other, both sharp points resting at his jugular. Her smooth, deadly movement had been so swiftly executed that he had scarcely taken a breath. Her inner thoughts had given nothing away. And how had she slipped the weapons past Tetra?

  "Well done, madam.” Gabe spoke through numb lips. He had trouble stifling the responding roar of his Chakkra blood. Swiftly, he doused the warrior response that longed to snap the neck of the threat in front of him. His hands fisted with the effort. For a moment, he wondered if the glittering in her eyes was something besides amusement. Then she spoke, her voice soft and devoid of any emotion.

  "You learn to use whatever weapons are handy in a place like Hydra, Commander. Fingernails, elbows, knees, feet, even teeth.” For a moment, her eyes reflected a dull coldness. The remembered coppery taste of blood filling her mouth and choking her.

  Gabe felt sick again. He was again in danger of losing his best whiskey. He refused to swallow; afraid the muscle action would press his skin against her weapons and slit his throat. With a body-trembling shudder, the dancer made a heroic effort and leaned back. The blades left his neck.

  Then she whispered, “You grasp sticks and stones to fight back, but sometimes nothing works but what nature gave you.” She clicked her teeth at him. With a tight smile, she sheathed the thin laser back in her boot. The butterfly curved blade she expertly twirled for a moment before giving it the same holster treatment in the other boot. Gabe thought he might have lost at least three fingers if he'd attempted that feat. Warrior training and instinct was no match for nimble fingers or for desperation. He covered his shiver and waited for her to finish.

  "I guess I've been training and waiting, without knowing why, for years—for just this chance, Commander. I've got to go back. The pricks can't scare me anymore. There isn't a weapon made that I don't know about. I've learned to use them all, and there i
s nothing I wouldn't do to deliver payback."

  "Ah—Gellico, you do know that this is a peaceful mission, don't you?"

  "Peaceful and Hydra make an oxymoron.” She laughed; a full-throated sound of real amusement, nothing like her crazy laugh of before. Gabe found himself in danger of really liking the dancer; a situation he had found with few others—male or female. Perhaps loving Sol had given him better insight.

  "I can't risk my men or the chance to bring peace to people who want it, Gellico.” He stared at her with the fatherly scowl he'd practiced for unruly ambassadors. “I don't think that's what Soledad had in mind when she sent you here."

  "No, I'm sure not.” A wicked half-grin lifted a corner of her full mouth. She was clearly unaffected by his authority. Gabe doubted that she felt anyone's authority. “Sol just wanted me to convince you to not go to Hydra."

  "Now, instead of convincing me not to go, you're going with me.” Gabe shook his head. “Great. She isn't going to be pleased."

  "Yeah, but she'll get over it.” Gellico shrugged one shoulder.

  "But only if we both make it back.” He offered his hand. “Truce?"

  After a moment, Gellico took Gabriel's hand, dueled with the pressure of his restrained grip. “Truce.” She smiled with just the right amount of respect and squeezed.

  Gabe drew back a hand numb to the wrist. He had held back his own strength, but was surprised at hers. Lost in contemplation, Gabe barely noticed Gellico's flinch when she flexed her fingers.

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  Chapter Thirteen

  "What the hell do you mean, Asher?” Gabe scowled at his Marine aide. “If you served under Soledad Scott on the Hydra mission, why didn't you tell me before?” The anger he felt at the major was more than evident in his hot tone—as evident as Gabe's brief glimpse of the major's buried feelings for Sol, buried but not forgotten. Gabe choked back his violent response to what he knew was jealousy—a man's lousy, green envy that Sol knew Asher before him. Rage clouded his vision. He blinked rapidly and reasoned it away. No one would ever see Gabe's violent nature if he could help it. He didn't know which made him angrier, the major's dereliction of duty in suppressing information or his own damned warrior bloodlines that urged him to kill his aide, a possible rival for Sol's affections. Perhaps, Gabe should dig deeper, use his empathy to spy on his aide's feelings for Sol. The lieutenant eyed him, speculation in his calm gaze as if he dared Gabe to try something. His voice was even neutral.