by Mikala Ash
"Your Honor, I object to my client being compared to Attila the Hun."
"Really, Mister Kershaw. You're right, of course. I withdraw it before Attila's descendants sue me for blackening his name with such a comparison."
"Your Honor, I protest!"
"Don't be ridiculous. Now get on with it. Bailiff! Recall the jury."
Holly finished her report on the day's antics and was leaving the courtroom when a familiar voice came to her from over her shoulder. “She's a feisty one, isn't she?"
"Silas. I didn't know you had an interest in the case.” She noted his swift glance toward the now empty judge's bench.
"Only tangentially. I have something that may interest you, though."
"What is it?"
He held up the thin wafer of a data slice. “My contacts in the navy came through with a list of suspected pirates who may have been in the area when the Euripides was hit."
Holly took the slice off him and inserted it into her smartcam's computer. She quickly perused the list of monikers. All were unknown to her except one, Mischa, whose name she recognized from the society gossip columns of the central systems.
She glanced up at him. Silas was standing uncomfortably close, leaning over her, and she could smell the clean brisk aroma of his aftershave.
"The fifth on the list, Mischa,” he pointed out, “has just arrived here."
Her heart quickened. “Legally?"
"All necessary permits and taxes paid for in advance."
"Anything on her?"
"You've not heard of her?"
"Of course, a meaningless socialite."
He pursed his lips and shook his head. “She's far more than that. Mischa has a very colorful past. Officially she's a member of the Trade Guild and owns three dozen cargo ships."
Holly gave a whistle. “Rich."
"Estimated net worth is sixty billion credits."
"Phong's arse!” Holly had no idea she was so significant, but such riches explained her notoriety in the society gossip.
"As you say, Phong's arse."
"What's she doing here?"
"No idea."
She suddenly became aware of his intense gaze and the slightly mocking curl to his lips. “What?"
He coughed and cleared his throat. She was sure his face had reddened. “Nothing ... Umm, anything yet on my missing lads?"
"Nothing. I've put the word out to my sources. I've already done a missing person spot."
"I saw it. Very touching."
She couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. Personally she thought it was as good as her Ernhard Wis missing person spots she'd run earlier in the year. She'd interviewed both mothers and the missing boys’ respective siblings. It was heart wrenching stuff though she couldn't help but feel that the families no longer expected to see them again. She said as much to Silas.
"They're realists, I suppose. The likelihood of their sons still being alive is slimmer than a worm's dick."
She giggled as she packed up her smartcam and made to move off.
"Where are you going?"
"To meet Mischa."
"Good luck. She has a phalanx of bodyguards protecting her, not to mention her PR manager."
Holly stopped. “You sure she's a pirate? Why would someone with a legit fortune still be involved in piracy?"
He shrugged. “Old habits? Maybe she's a sociopath."
"I'll do a spot on her, see if she'll play with me."
He reached out and grasped her wrist. “Be careful. She's rich, powerful and vicious. She's a killer, believe me."
"I've handled her kind before."
"I hope you're right."
Holly disengaged her arm, aware that her wrist burned with the heat of his fingers. “Trust me. I know what I'm doing."
"Famous last words."
She gave him a quick smile and rushed off down the corridor. She was glad to be away from him. That he was attracted to her was painfully obvious. How she felt about it, Holly didn't want to explore right now. This wasn't the time or place to think about men. She had Maxim to find. She took a hurried sniff of her Forget-Me-Not pendant and a rush of desire coursed through her body.
As she walked, Holly accessed the spaceport central registry and ascertained that the penthouse suite of the Adana Excelsior had been commandeered by a large party. The only such party to arrive in the last few hours, according to the customs database, was from the Orion Trading Company, Mischa's trading name. As she took the turbo lift to the penthouse levels, she accessed the Observer's databank and did a quick study of Mischa herself.
Born of a Holthian slave girl in a warlord's household on the outlaw planet Koenglover VII, Mischa and her two sisters were sold to separate dealers and fifteen years later she was again sold to a spice trader who trained her to assist him. He was, apparently, a kindly man and upon his death she received manumission and inherited his cargo ship. Her first act was to return to Koenglover and kill the warlord, rumored by some to be her father. She escaped with her aged mother who now lived in secluded luxury on one of the central worlds.
Mischa went from strength to strength, dealing in slaves and contraband, never captured by the authorities and slowly accruing vast wealth and power. She was now a celebrity throughout the IAC, but rumors abounded that her fleet of pirates was still active and laundered their money through her various legit businesses.
Inside the lobby of the Excelsior, Holly quickly donned her smartcam and positioned herself with the shiny front desk behind her, aware that the nervous Mendovian concierge was watching her with growing apprehension.
"Viewers, I'm speaking to you from the lobby of the luxurious Excelsior Hotel. The reason I'm here is the unexpected arrival of Mischa, possibly the richest and most famous celebrity ever to visit Adana."
As she spoke, Holly approached the front desk. “Unfortunately, I missed her arrival as it was kept secret by her publicity machine, but I'm hoping that she'll speak to me now. Hi,” she said to the concierge. “I'm Holly Barberossa of the Adana Observer, and your name is?"
The Mendovian's eyestalks twitched in anxiety. “Liss Myson, Holly."
"Pleased to meet you, Liss. I understand you had a famous guest just check in."
Liss Myson licked his lips. “I'm sorry,” he stuttered. “Excelsior policy is that I can't discuss our guests."
"I understand, Liss. I promise not to put you in a compromising position. Could you let Mischa's PR manager know I'm here? Mischa's many fans would be thrilled, I bet, to see her in person."
Without thinking Liss tapped a few keys on his panel and picked up a small communicator. Noting that Holly was watching intently, he took a step back and spoke quietly.
"While Liss is arranging a meeting with the famous Mischa, the richest woman in the galaxy, let me remind you viewers a little bit of Mischa's official life story."
For the next five minutes Holly gave a summary of Mischa's colorful past, letting her voice convey the questions about the more notorious incidents in Mischa's life rather than stating the suspicions out loud. She'd just gotten to the rumor of her having been sighted in the IAC premier's private yacht when a tall warrior type woman in a black leotard appeared at her side.
"Holly Barberossa?"
Holly paused and gave the stunningly attractive woman a warm smile. “That's me."
"I'm Janga Sarn. I represent Mischa."
"Pleased to meet you, Janga."
Janga Sarn did not return the smile. “I must warn you to desist from spreading these rumors about my employer, lest we be forced to take legal action against your organization and against you personally."
Phong's ass! Talk about all lasers blazing. “Oh, I'm sorry. I was only reiterating material that's freely available on the galactic net. Would you like to point out which rumors are untrue?"
"Don't play games with me. We know what you're doing."
"Janga, I'm not sure of your legal training, but here on Adana we have freedom of the press. I'll
be happy to retract anything I've reported that is untrue, and do so unreservedly, but I'll need to speak to someone senior to you to convince me, since, as I said, I gained the material from IAC sanctioned sources, all of which are over a year old and there are no legal injunctions on any of these stories. So, which bits are untrue?"
The fury on Janga's face was evident. Obviously no one had ever back-chatted her before. Holly guessed the warrior could snap her in two, if she so decided, but she continued with her challenge undaunted. Mischa wouldn't sanction something so public as the uncouth assault of a journalist. It would be bad for her image.
Janga cocked her head as if listening to something, no doubt a communicator implant, and her expression changed from cold fury to resigned indignation. “Come with me."
Holly suppressed her grin of triumph and followed Janga to the turbo lift. Obviously Mischa had been watching her broadcast and decided the embarrassment was not worth the effort of keeping her away. A decision many came to when she turned her focus onto them.
She flicked a smile and a wink at the still anxious concierge. She kept up a one-sided conversation with Janga, asking questions about Mischa's secret arrival on Adana, what her intentions were whilst here and when she was leaving. Janga did not respond to any question, which didn't upset Holly in the slightest. She was desperately trying to plan the forthcoming interview.
Holly wasn't sure exactly what she wanted to achieve now that she had gained access to the notorious Mischa. There was no evidence that the rich socialite knew anything at all about Maxim's disappearance, just the hint from Silas's friend in the navy that her ships were in the proximity of the attack on the Euripides. But Holly had to start somewhere.
The whole penthouse floor had been appropriated by Mischa's entourage. Burly half naked guards, their oiled skin glistening, stood outside every door. The one with two guards Holly guessed belonged to Mischa herself. Holly allowed herself to be searched by a grumpy looking Mendovian. He was none too subtle and had no reluctance to squeeze her breasts and slam his fingers hard against her sex when he slid his hands up and down her inner thigh.
"Satisfied?” she said to Janga.
"Whilst in the presence of Mischa you will be silent until spoken to. You will be respectful. The first hint of disrespect and I will remove you from her presence."
Holly gave her an icy smile.
Janga reached for her smartcam. Holly jerked it away from her grasp. “Not on your life, sweet-pea."
"Recording devices are not permitted."
"I'm a reporter, Janga, recording devices come with the territory. What are you so afraid of?"
Janga's expression promised certain violence but changed suddenly to one of icy politeness. She obviously hadn't realized Holly was still broadcasting. Obviously Mischa didn't like the impression that was being created and had given her another direction. “Come with me."
The door slid open and Janga led her into the sumptuous living area of the penthouse suite. The large windows opened up onto the docking stations with the constantly moving flotilla of large and small ships arriving and departing the busy spaceport. Ice comets which supplied Adana with fresh water lay off to one side in their matching orbit, their irregular globes shining like diamonds in the sunlight. Beside them lay the water purification plant and the scavenger ships of the Amalgamated Spaceport Guild of Scavengers. Her gaze quickly found the Pride, Felis's ship, and Holly pushed down her anger. Maxim's ship, the Vesper, should be there also, moored next it.
"Wait here,” Janga said and left by a side door.
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Chapter Five
Murukan of the six faces had watched Janga's discomfiture with wry amusement. At last the arrogant bitch had met her match. The feisty reporter, Holly Barberossa, was holding her own with her pretty jaw set firmly and her blue eyes blazing with defiance. Murukan's manhood stirred inside his robe and he adjusted his stance beside the bed to accommodate it.
"For Phong's sake, Janga,” Mischa swore into the communicator. “Send her up."
Mischa glanced at him, her hungry eyes settling on the tent in his robe, imagining, no doubt, the erect cock beneath. “She attracts you, my Muru?"
"She is beautiful, mistress."
"Yes, yes she is.” She motioned for him to approach her. Reaching into the robe, she extracted his cock and held it before her eyes, examining it as if she were appraising a rare jewel.
Murukan closed his eyes at her touch. She handled him so well, firm but gently, the heat of her fingers rushing along the shaft to his balls which he'd emptied into her hot juicy cunt just a few minutes before. “I can't get enough of you, Murukan,” she sighed.
"Or me you, mistress."
"So you prove, several times a day.” She stroked the shaft with her thumb and forefinger, extracting a drop of come which she deftly transferred to her fingertip and took to her full lips. “Do you ever tire of me, my Muru?"
"Never, mistress. You are the center of my universe."
"I bet you say that to all the girls."
"There are none but you."
"Then fuck me again."
"With pleasure, mistress.” Murukan wondered why she enjoyed this little game. How could there be anyone else? He was her slave and she his mistress. He shared her bedroom, her bed, and was present at all her meetings. He was never out of her presence. He slept with her and even bathed with her.
In the short months he had been her slave he had come to love her as he was certain he had never loved another. She had rescued him from death, given him a new life to replace the one that had been wiped from his mind by the accident. She'd told him she had watched him being plucked from the wreckage of a spacecraft, his body twisted and bloody.
"Minced meat,” she had described his state. “But there was something about you I liked.” Weeks of extreme medical intervention had followed, his burned face replaced with first one mask, then another and another until it had taken. “Luckily, the one that held was the most handsome,” she'd told him.
He was in no position to judge whether or not he was handsome and since he had no memory of his former appearance, getting used to his new countenance was a straightforward process. It was a face, as simple as that; two dark brown eyes grown in a vat from his own DNA, a narrow nose from his own cartilage, lips that were neither thick nor thin but curved in what she described as a very sensual manner, though he thought they were a little cruel. The chin was square, the jaw line clear and straight. To him, it was just a face, and it would serve as good as any other.
Mischa liked it, that's all that mattered. He loved her with every cell in his body and he believed she loved him in return. She said she did, and said it often. “Above all the men I have ever known,” she once told him, and he believed her.
To be loved by such a woman made him proud. It seemed to him that Mischa was the epitome of a sexual being. Despite her perfectly oval face which gave the impression she was innocent and naïve, she was experienced in love. That disarmingly angelic face had, according to the rumors, led many a man to his doom. Her body was supremely athletic. Her translucent satiny flesh covered muscles as hard as iron. She bore the scars of her brutalized past on her back and she kept them as reminders of where she'd come from. She was a hard woman. He'd seen her condemn men to death with hardly a flicker of emotion, but she had a softer nature than many would believe, a place that she let only him see and touch. She trusted him, and he loved her for that most of all.
Mischa's full, sensuous lips were hungry and her kisses strong and demanding. Her tongue snaked into his mouth and wrestled with his own. She liked her sex hard and he liked giving it to her that way.
Without warning he grabbed her, flipped her over onto her stomach and pulled her to her knees, slapping her taut ass with the flat of his hand. She moaned and her body quivered as he slapped her again, harder this time so the imprint of his palm showed red against the pale flesh.
Her exposed pussy lips protrud
ed plump and full between her thighs. They glistened with her need for him. He slapped her there too, with a stinging blow that crackled through the bedroom.
Mischa flinched and squirmed, threatening to collapse on the bed in pleasure but with one arm across her belly supporting her, he slapped her again, and again, until her ass was a blazing crimson and her arousal dripped down her thighs. “Fuck me!” she rasped.
Murukan positioned himself behind her and touched the head of his swollen cock against her equally engorged pussy. “Fuck me,” he ordered.
She rocked back on her knees and the swollen head of his cock parted her lips and slid without effort into her. Mischa's pussy was tight, and wet, oh so wet, and he threw his head back at the sheer pleasure of it.
He slapped her ass. “Faster!” She complied; it was one of her favorite games.
The increasing frequency of her reverse thrusting, in time with his ruthless slaps, quickly brought her to a clenching orgasm. But he wasn't finished yet. After her pussy stopped its frenetic spasms around his shaft, he turned her over onto her back, hoisted her legs up and pushed them down to her face so that she peered up at him, her face flushed with passion, between her knees.
He stood at the edge of the bed and fed his cock into her, driving deep, and with one hand opened the cheeks of her ass, exposing her asshole, and slipped his thumb into the puckered ring. She came suddenly, screaming with pleasure, and then, as the spasms subsided she began a steady whimpering as he continued to drive into her.
With each thrust he drove his fingers deeper inside her ass. She was coming continuously now, her body shuddering with each powerful climax, the death of each giving birth to the next until she was a trembling quivering mass beneath him.
