by Robyn Bachar
Malcolm rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one arm as he reached for her with the other. Andee’s back arched, thrusting her breasts up in an invitation for his attention. He took one nipple into his mouth and laved it with his tongue as he rolled the other tight bud between his fingers. She really did have lovely breasts.
Galen moaned as he buried his cock in Andee. Malcolm was mesmerized by the sight of Galen’s shaft sliding in and out of Andee’s sex. For a moment he closed his eyes and imagined Galen thrusting into him, deep and hard.
Malcolm stroked Andee’s clit as he met her mouth with his. She tasted of sex and blood, and Malcolm moaned as she kissed him hungrily. Galen leaned down and bit Andee, taking advantage of her bared throat, and Malcolm’s hand was pressed between the two writhing Cy’ren. He continued teasing her clit as Andee and Galen came, and the sound of their mutual pleasure made Malcolm hard again.
“That was amazing,” Galen said with a lazy grin when he drew away.
Andee murmured something in Cy’reni as Galen lay beside her, and Malcolm thought he recognized the word for darling. He kissed her hair, agreeing silently with whatever it was she said, and wondered again what it would be like to stay with them forever. The pretty dream soured at the memory of the last time he’d shared a woman like this—Kai, with the Archivist, and there had been nothing sweet or tender about it. Andee belonged to another as surely as Kai had, and Malcolm was just as certain to lose her.
He jumped as Andee stroked his cock.
“I hope that’s for me, a’mhain,” she purred.
“Definitely,” Malcolm replied. He shoved the worry away—there was no time for that now. If nothing else, his life as a slave had taught him to live for the moment, because you never knew how long it would last. He would revel in this for as long as possible.
∆∆∆
“We’ve developed a plan for Argent, but it won’t be easy,” Captain Hawke warned.
“When is it ever?” Lieutenant Loren muttered.
The captain shrugged. “It’s going to get worse before it gets better. But after we win, we’re taking Tali on vacation.”
“If you’re feeling nostalgic for Earth, Captain Hawke, I hear that the resorts on Mars are very nice,” Malcolm offered. Or at least Alexi had said so. Earth was somewhere in Alliance space, and he and Alexi had often discussed ideas for exotic places they would visit if they could. Alexi hadn’t been a slave per se, because he was indentured to the Collective for a set period of time to pay off a debt in his family. He would’ve been free in five more years.
“Never been, but that’s what I hear, too,” she agreed. “How fast can you alter a ship’s ident file?”
“Depends on how good it needs to be. I can throw a quick one together in a few minutes. But assuming you want something that can stand up to Syndicate scrutiny, an hour or two. Why?” Malcolm asked.
“We’re trying something different on Argent,” Captain Hawke began. “Thanks to Captain Spenser, we have more resources than our usual missions. He’s given us access to a few Alliance accounts that we can use to finance an expensive cover.”
Malcolm frowned. “Everything’s expensive on Argent.”
“You’ve been there before?” Galen asked.
Malcolm nodded, ducking his head and looking away. “With the Archivist.”
Archivist de la Cruz didn’t travel often in his work for the Collective, but just as their members worked hard to gather and broker information, they played hard in their off time. Malcolm had been part of his master’s entourage for two trips to Argent, neither of which were experiences he wanted to talk about with Galen and Andee in the room. Or with anyone ever, really.
“That might be useful. We want you to play the part of a wealthy businessman visiting Argent for pleasure, and the Cy’ren…” She stopped, seeming suddenly uncertain.
“We’ll be posing as your slaves,” Lieutenant Loren explained. “Including Lord Degalen and Lady Andelynn.”
Galen started beside him, though Andee took the news in stride.
“Commander Soth as well?” Andee asked.
“Yes,” the lieutenant confirmed.
“A slave?” Galen asked. “But our marks. Surely someone will look at us and recognize the runes of our houses, our heritage.”
Captain Hawke nodded. “We will temporarily change your heritage runes, and add false slave marks for the duration of the mission.”
“I know that sounds severe,” Lieutenant Loren said. “I’m not eager to have my mates’ marks tampered with, even for a few days. But the marks can be restored, and we’ll be ensuring our family’s safety by obtaining the cure.”
Family. Malcolm wanted to help the Cy’ren because it was the right thing to do, but he had no family to protect, no home to defend and no mates to fight for. And no profit, either. The Archivist would have charged a fortune for the aid Malcolm had already given the resistance. Maybe he had—Malcolm didn’t know what the Archivist had charged Galen for Malcolm’s access to the Collective. Really the lord had been cheated, because Malcolm hadn’t found much in the Collective’s database.
But he could put his access to good use now. “If you can change course and find me a comm. buoy to patch into, I can build a data history for the roles you want us to play. Business records, ownership registry, the works.”
“Good. I’ll let Rizzoli know. Malcolm, you’re best suited to play the role of the businessman. Will you try?” Captain Hawke seemed apologetic, and Malcolm appreciated her concern. She was asking, and not ordering him to do it.
He thought of his master. Could he treat Galen and Andee with the same casual disdain he had been? Not just ignoring their feelings but taking delight in their pain? No, Malcolm could never hurt them, not intentionally, but they would know that he was acting. He had a lot of source material to draw from in pretending to be a slaver.
“I can do it.” Malcolm scratched his scalp and glanced down at his mismatched clothing. “I think I may need help with costuming, though.”
Chapter Eight
Argent was beautiful. Not just the view from the air, though the cityscape was astounding as the limo wove through the gleaming glass and metal spires of the planet’s capitol, shuttling them from the spaceport to their hotel. Argent was one of the jewels of the Syndicate, a world where the wealthy lived and conducted business, and the super wealthy visited to have their every whim pampered at the luxury resorts. Everything on Argent was available for a price. Archivist de la Cruz loved the place, and as Malcolm tugged at the hem of his shiny new jacket, he fought down the nausea and panic that threatened to overwhelm him as he remembered his previous visits to Argent.
He could do this. He would do this. The safety of millions, maybe even billions, relied on his ability to locate the cure to the Lazarus virus. No pressure there… Andee reached over and squeezed his hands with a quick, reassuring smile, and it eased some of his tension. If she was brave enough to pretend to be a slave, he could find the strength to endure this mission. All he had to do was to do what Archivist de la Cruz would do.
Malcolm squared his shoulders and adopted the arrogant tilt of his master’s head. Well, that was step one.
“This planet smells funny,” Soth muttered as they emerged from the limo.
“It smells like money,” Malcolm replied.
“Oh. That explains why I didn’t recognize it.”
Malcolm swallowed a smile and shushed him before the hotel staff noticed.
It was strange to lead instead of follow, to glare at everyone around him instead of ducking his head and avoiding their gaze. He felt naked without the comfort of his data lenses, and the new outfit was tight and stiff, but at least Malcolm was fully clothed—the Cy’ren were practically naked, with a few scraps of strategically positioned fabric covering their intimate areas. Captain Hawke had wanted to cut Malcolm’s hair as part of his disguise, but Malcolm had dodged that particular laser bolt thanks to his data jack, needing his long hair to
cover it. No one would believe that a data miner was the wealthy businessman Malcolm pretended to be. Then again, considering how much breast Andee showed at the moment, he doubted that anyone would pay much attention to him.
They settled into the hotel without incident—thank God for the Alliance, because otherwise they couldn’t have afforded an hour at the place. After ordering in and enjoying a lavish, extravagant dinner, the group headed to the hotel’s lounge to meet with their local contact.
Malcolm stumbled as they entered the room. He had almost forgotten what it was like on Argent—what it was like on many Syndicate worlds. Malcolm had spent the last few years in U-territory on the jump station. He and Alexi had been in the Archivist’s employ, but they had a degree of independence. Alexi booked the jobs, Malcolm did the work and the credits went into their master’s bank account.
Slaves were a luxury item on Argent, an accessory to display their master’s wealth, so the playgrounds of the wealthy were built to accommodate that display. The sitting areas in the hotel lounge had no tables to obstruct the view of the slaves that knelt at their master’s feet. Food and drinks rested on small side trays, or on the floor. Slaves ate from the floor. Malcolm’s stomach turned at the memory of kneeling at the Archivist’s feet and eating from a bowl like a dog. Never again, he vowed as he held his head high and walked to his booth.
Malcolm sat and the Cy’ren knelt. Well, most of the Cy’ren. While Andee was a chameleon who seemed to intuitively understand what was expected of her, Galen was not used to being anything but the center of attention. He moved to sit next to Malcolm, so Malcolm did what the Archivist would have done—he “corrected” Galen by grabbing a handful of the Cy’ren’s hair and pulling.
“You do not sit beside me without an invitation.” Malcolm’s voice was low and dangerous, a perfect mimic of his master. Would Archivist de la Cruz be proud of his transformation? Probably not. He would have had Malcolm whipped for putting on airs.
Galen gasped, but then looked away. “Yes, of course. I apologize.”
“I apologize, sir.” Malcolm punctuated the word with another tug of Galen’s hair.
The Cy’ren swallowed and cringed. “Yes, sir.”
“That’s better.”
Malcolm looked up as a pretty, young waitress approached. Human, or near human. In this case live help was a luxury. Some establishments had high-end serving bots to take and deliver drink orders, but bots were cold and impersonal. His own club on the jump station had employed people instead of bots. Not because they were chic or anything, but because bots broke down fairly often and it was a pain in the ass to get replacement parts shipped to the station.
“How may I serve you this evening?” the waitress asked.
Malcolm sighed as though exhausted from bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Breaking in new slaves is so tiresome. I would like a bottle of sparkling white wine. Something sweet, not dry.”
“Yes, sir. Do you require anything else?”
“No, that will be all for now.”
The waitress bowed as though he were royalty, and he watched the graceful sway of her hips as she walked away. Maybe she was a prostitute in addition to waitressing—everything was available for a price on Argent, and she was attractive. Thankfully with his flock of Cy’ren no one would think that he needed sexual entertainment, though Malcolm wondered if Galen would even talk to him after this.
Andee nuzzled Malcolm’s knee like a great cat seeking attention, and he stroked her hair. She had lovely hair; thick, silky and black like ink. Her hair covered more than her clothing at the moment, her soft gray skin peeking through the fabric of her dress. Though dress seemed an inaccurate term, because it was more like a few strategic strips of silver material knotted together.
When the wine arrived Soth sipped it first, the designated food taster. Not that Malcolm thought anyone was going to try to poison him, but it added to his cover as a wealthy, paranoid businessman. Soth did not keel over, so a glass was filled for Malcolm. The waitress left, and Malcolm drew Andee up onto his lap and wrapped a possessive arm around her waist, offering her sips of wine from his glass as he surveyed the room.
The guests were mostly male and mostly human. It seemed odd to Malcolm, who had seen a steady crowd of men and women, humans and otherwise at his club. Apparently non-humans traveled more often in Alliance space, because Alliance installations made an effort to be as equal and accommodating as possible. Syndicate worlds were only accommodating as long as your credits held out.
“She likes you,” Andee whispered as she nuzzled his ear.
“Really?” Malcolm assumed the server was supposed to like everyone.
“You’re quite attractive. For a human.” She grinned, and he offered her another sip of wine.
“Well I think you’re beautiful for any species,” he assured her.
Humans and humanoids like Cy’ren were nearly identical DNA-wise, like slight variations on a computer code. Supposedly an ancient spacefaring race had traveled throughout the galaxy and seeded worlds like Earth, allowing humans and humanoids to evolve along similar lines. The details were different—some species had gills, webbed digits, feathers, scales and all in a variety of colors—but the build was basically the same.
There were other forms of sentient life that weren’t mammalian or bipedal, but they tended to keep among themselves. Honestly, what would you talk about with a bee, or a mantis? Though Malcolm was intrigued by the possibilities of what their computer systems might be like. A data network built by a hive society would be fascinating to study.
An excited feminine squeal caught his attention as two female Cy’ren pounced on Galen, followed by a deep, masculine chuckle of amusement. Malcolm looked up—and up—at a tall, broad man with a bright grin. Human, with ebony skin and deep brown eyes, his black hair buzzed close to his skull. He was built like Commander Soth, who Malcolm assumed worked as a mountain in his downtime.
“Sorry about that. I can’t control my flowers when they see something they want,” he said.
That was the code phrase, and for a moment Malcolm’s mind blanked as he struggled to remember the correct reply. Damn it, this spy stuff was hard.
“Who are we to deny such beautiful blossoms?” Andee replied. She was much better at this, and Malcolm rewarded her with another sip of wine.
“Please join us,” Malcolm offered. “Though I would request that your pets choose one of my other males. That one has been naughty, and does not deserve such a lovely reward.” There, that sounded official and master-like, and saved Galen from being pawed at. Soth was happy to take up the slack, an arm around either female.
Their contact sat on the booth’s bench near Malcolm. “Pleased to meet you. I’m John Rook. The pink female is Candy, and the red one is Pepper. I’ve been thinking of breeding them. Are any of your males available to stud?”
Malcolm was fairly certain he heard Soth mutter “hell yeah”, but he ignored it. This was part of the code as well.
“For the right price, certainly. Will you join me in a drink?” Malcolm asked. Rook waved the waitress over and ordered a glass of Scotch. Malcolm wasn’t a fan of strong alcohol, and he preferred his booze to taste sweet instead of like a slap to the face.
They made small talk over their drinks as Candy and Pepper cooed and giggled over Soth. Dack remained vigilant for an attack like a good bodyguard, and Galen continued to look chagrined. Andee perched on Malcolm’s lap, and over time he realized that she was heavier than she looked. She was short, but packed with muscle under those curves. Eventually they all retired to Malcolm’s suite under the guise of drawing up a breeding contract for mating the Cy’ren once the females went into phase.
“What happened? I haven’t been able to contact command in days,” Rook said when they were safely in private. They had already swept the rooms for surveillance devices three times to be sure that they weren’t being monitored.
“Hostile takeover,” Lieutenant Loren sai
d. He gave a brief explanation of Bildanen’s crimes and the threat of the Lazarus virus, and then looked to Rook’s females. “I assume your names aren’t Candy and Pepper?”
“Cantana and Peprendi, in fact,” Candy replied. “Both of House Sunsinger. We apologize deeply if we overstepped our bounds, Lord Degalen.” Both females bowed, and Malcolm flinched.
“Oh my God! I’m so sorry I pulled your hair,” he blurted to Galen. Malcolm reached out as though to pat Galen’s shoulder in apology, but then shoved his fists into his pockets instead. “It just seemed like what my master would do. Did do. He grabs everyone by the hair.”
“It is all right, Malcolm, and ladies. I took no offense,” Galen said.
Malcolm wasn’t sure he believed the lord, and he looked to Andee for confirmation. She nodded slightly in reply, and Malcolm sighed with relief. He turned to Rook. “We need to access the data storage room in the Eppes Tower to perform a search for the cure for the Lazarus virus. How can we do that?”
Rook dropped into a chair in the suite’s sitting room, scratching his stubble-lined jaw. On most males stubble looked unkempt, but on Rook it looked dashing and rakish. What did he do as his cover on Argent? Aside from drink Scotch and…garden?
Peprendi flopped into an easy chair, the motion mirroring Rook’s. “It won’t be easy. Their security is no joke. They have bots, they have guards and they monitor the whole place with motion sensors, cameras, retinal scanners, the works. They probably have monitors no one else has thought of yet.”
“You’ll need a mid- to high-level access code to move around the building,” Cantana agreed. “Not so high that people will show up to cater to you, but high enough that no one will raise an eyebrow over you registering in restricted areas.”
“Toulouse would work,” Rook suggested. The two females grimaced in reply.
