by James Axler
"The difference between life and death," Nefron declared.
"Yours or mine?"
"Both. Our fates are intertwined at this moment." She glared hard and unblinkingly at Mildred. As she did so, she said, "I cannot get a read on her. She is resisting me, and I cannot waste any more time here. I have got to attend to Krysty. Mimses, make this bitch talk or make her die."
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jak was hot, thirsty, tired and cramped, a far cry from how he had felt in the hour before dawn when he had followed Nefron out of the small house on the outskirts of Aten.
She had led him along a mazelike path, circling around the city walls to the very base of the pyramid. Its massive proportions hadn't impressed him overmuch. He had eyes only for Nefron. The memory of her body was still fresh in his hands, the taste of her on his lips, and the erotic scent of her skin, her sex still sweetened the air he breathed.
She told him where to climb, how to get there, what to do and when to do it. She held him by the sides of the head and kissed him deeply and passionately.
Senses reeling, Jak began the long climb up the side of the monument, not feeling the weight of his holstered blaster or the water skin slung over a shoulder.
He found the mouth of the ventilation shaft leading to the relieving chamber with no trouble, just where Nefron had indicated it would be. But, even as thin as he was, he had difficulty squeezing into it. He put his back against one wall and braced his feet against the other and crept down at a snail's pace into darkness.
The rough-hewn surface of the stone scraped his back, snagged at folds in his shirt, and when the friction between flesh and rock increased, he began to sweat profusely. The painfully slow sliding of his boot treads and the inch-by-inch movements of his back had to be synchronized perfectly, or he would lose his precarious balance and pitch straight down into the King's Chamber.
The pressure he maintained with his upper body and legs strained even his steel-cable sinews and muscles, and his knees shook uncontrollably, knocking together from time to time.
Looking down between his legs, he saw a very dim yellow pinpoint of light, like a single star shining in the black gulf of space. He was seeing into the King's Chamber—Nefron had told him it was illuminated by several braziers.
Then, with a frightening suddenness, the narrow shaft he had been creeping down suddenly opened up. He nearly fell, but his rear end struck a shelf of stone projecting from the shaft wall. Though he couldn't see it, he knew a long finger of rock jutted out from the opposite side. As he eased his weight down on the shelf, he was very careful to place his feet properly, so as not to kick and dislodge the keystone lever.
For some time he sat on the stone slab, gasping for air, his back wet with sweat and a little blood from abrasions picked up during his ascent. Every muscle in his body seemed to be alive with pain, and he vigorously rubbed his calves so they wouldn't cramp.
He took a long drink from his water skin, and when he tilted his head back, he saw a dim circle of light far, far above. The sun was making its ascent into the sky. By the time it began its descent, the shaft would be flooded with sunlight and would throw the keystone lever into sharp relief.
Jak touched his blaster in its holster. The heavy butt would make a serviceable substitute for a hammer.
MILDRED WAITED for the next lash of the whip, tensed herself to hear it sing and crack through the air before it flayed the flesh from her body. She heard nothing but the heavy breathing of Mimses and the rustle of cloth.
Then she felt Mimses pressing his naked body against hers, his flabby belly on her hips, his reeking breath washing over her face. He caressed her breasts with one hand.
"Tell me, brown sugar," he husked out. "Tell me quick or I'll kiss your pretty flanks with this." He flicked out the whip so she could see it.
Mildred refused to answer.
Mimses chuckled and pushed himself away from her. She hazarded a quick backward glance, expecting to see him in a state of sexual arousal. Beneath his sagging stomach, his shriveled penis hung flaccid and limp. She groaned inwardly, and her stomach did a leap-frog of nausea.
She knew it made no difference whether she told him what he wanted to know. Mimses was impotent, and his exercise in sadism was either an alternative to the sex act itself or a preliminary to it, assuming he could get himself excited enough to perform.
The knotted thongs whistled through the air and curled around her loins. Mildred endured the humiliation and the pain without making an outcry. She strained against the cuffs imprisoning her wrists.
With each crackling snap, the lash left streaks of fire across Mildred's flesh. She kept her teeth sunk into her lower lip and continued to pull and twist at the cuffs as though she were writhing in hellish agony. Her skin dampened with perspiration. As the whip continued to flick out and stroke her, she realized she was able to slide her right wrist around within its restraint.
She allowed a low whimper to escape her lips. "Stop! Mercy. I'll tell you!"
Mimses panted, took a lungful of air and said hoarsely, "So soon? I could keep this up all night."
Mildred sagged in the cuffs, trembling violently. "I'll tell you, I'll tell you," she repeated brokenly.
Mimses came to her side, his body foul with the stink of exertion. He leaned in close, and Mildred felt a slight pressure against her thigh. Through slitted eyes, she saw his half-erect penis brushing her skin.
"And speaking of keeping it up," he said with a grin, "I'm not so sure I want to stop our game just now."
Mildred threw her body backward, bracing her feet against the wall, wrenching and yanking with all her strength. Her shoulder socket twinged, the skin on her wrist tore and her right elbow drove into Mimses's throat with a sound like an ax chopping into wood.
The man stumbled backward, one arm windmilling as he tried to keep his footing, clutching desperately at his throat with his other hand. The whip clacked to the floor.
Mildred didn't wait to see if he fell or not. Her fingers clawed frantically at the buckles and straps of the cuff encircling her left wrist. Behind her, she heard liquid, slurping gasps.
Her wrist free, Mildred whirled. Crimsons strings dripping from his open mouth, Mimses groped clumsily for the handle of the whip. She sprang forward, kicking out with her right leg. The sole of her foot slammed against the side of the man's head, knocking him sideways. He fetched up in a half-prone position against the bench in the corner.
Mildred snatched up the whip and looped the thongs around Mimses's neck, planting a knee between his shoulder blades. She heaved back with all her weight and the strength in her arms.
Hot tears spilled down her cheeks, and she heard herself chanting, "Die, you goddamn pervert, die, you diseased son of a bitch, die—"
Nearly a minute passed before she realized Mimses had accommodated her. He hung limply in the garroting embrace of the leather thongs, tongue protruding, glassy eyes bulging, limbs slack and motionless. Only his left foot moved, in a postmortem twitch. His bladder and bowels had let go, filling with the room with a stench.
Mildred let go of the whip, and Mimses dropped forward on his face with a mushy thud. Shuddering and shaking, she swallowed down the acidic bile that rose in a burning column up her throat. Her tear-blinded eyes glared with unregenerate, unforgiving hatred at the corpse lying at her feet.
In Deathlands, torture and torment were daily happenings, but she had never grown accustomed to it or accepted it. She never would.
Mildred eyed her torn clothing with loathing, then picked up the robe Mimses had discarded, slipping it over her head, ignoring the flare of pain ignited by the contact of the fabric with the raw abrasions on her back. The ankh rested in an inner breast pocket.
She forced herself to uncoil the whip from around Mimses's throat, stowing it in a voluminous bell sleeve. It wasn't much of a weapon, but under the circumstances, she had no intention of being choosy.
BY NOON, all o
f Aten roared with lusty life. Trumpets blared, the throng cheered, shouted and danced and children scattered flower petals in the plaza. The flowing wine was benign, the food sumptuous and savory.
Even in her chambers, Krysty heard the joyous clamor. She listened to it with a face as immobile as if it had been carved of stone. Dressed in a flowing white gown with gold-threaded darts, cut low in the front and high in the leg, she stood and listened and waited. A heavy collar of beaten gold, worked with ivory inlays, encircled the base of her neck, most of the weight distributed on her upper shoulders. She hadn't moved since she put it on. She kept her eyes on the double doors.
And waited.
Finally, the right-hand door opened. Nefron stepped in, saw Krysty and froze for an instant in midstride. Her smile faltered, then came back, toothy and dazzling.
Hurrying forward, she said, "You look beautiful, Krysty. A true queen. A goddess. But you should have waited for me to help you dress."
Krysty nodded.
Nefron walked around her, examining her ensemble with an approving eye. "Yes, like a goddess. The people will love you like Pharaoh and I love you. You are not nervous, are you?"
"Should I be?"
Nefron smiled wanly. "A little apprehension is understandable. By sunset, all the anxiety will be over."
"Yes," Krysty said softly. "All over."
She drew back with her right arm and punched Nefron on the point of her chin. The girl spun almost completely around, stumbled, tried to catch herself on the table and dragged it down with her to the floor.
Krysty walked gracefully to her, hand stabbing down and grasping her by the hair. She jerked Nefron erect. The girl opened her mouth to scream in pain, but Krysty drove it back into her throat with a fist to the jaw, splitting her lip.
Fear showed in Nefron's eyes for a split second, then it was washed away by anger and hatred. She began to struggle, to pry at the fingers entangled in her glossy black locks.
Krysty's backhand took Nefron high on a contoured cheekbone, just under her mascaraed right eye. She released her grip on her hair at the same time, and the girl staggered backward, tripped over the fallen table and went down with her long legs sprawled awkwardly.
Krysty watched her dazedly grope around on the floor, blood streaking her chin in a thin red line. Her eyes were unfocused, but when they fixed on Krysty, the hot sheen of fury and arrogance blazed in them.
"The only reason I don't break your neck," Krysty said unemotionally, "is that you can be of use to me."
Nefron hiked herself up to a sitting position and spit blood on the polished floor.
"But if you refuse to be of use to me," the Titian-haired woman continued, "then I'll chill you here and now. On the spot. Gladly."
Nefron bared red-filmed teeth in a ferocious grin. "Mildred got an ankh to you after all."
Krysty tapped the collar at her throat with a finger. "And here it will stay. I know what you and your father have been doing to me for the last few days. I don't think I need to let you know how little I care for it."
"May I get up?"
"No."
"Are you not interested in why we did this to you?"
Krysty's eyes glowed brilliantly with an almost insane fury. But when she spoke, her voice was pitched low and steady. "I know why. Hatred. I picked up that much and sensed the rot in your souls. You use love as a control mechanism, to further the hatred that motivates you."
"Pharaoh truly loves you, Krysty," Nefron said quietly.
A flicker of uncertainty dimmed the blaze of rage in her eyes for a microsecond, but it passed. "He loved the idea of me, the concept of me. His lover, his mother, his whimpering, willing sex slave all in one package. Both you and Akhnaton have set yourselves above humanity and you toy with our most primal impulses to keep us under your control. You stimulate certain parts of the brain in certain ways and flood the nervous system with endorphins. The critical, reasoning parts of the brain move slowly. Erotic thoughts and a fixation on physical pleasures dominate."
Nefron said nothing, voiced no denials or questions.
"Your father learned how to do this during his upbringing," Krysty continued. "It was easier than outright mind-control because he can arrange for the endorphins to be subject to a feedback loop. If anybody gets out of line and starts entertaining independent thought, he forces the release of more endorphins."
Krysty's lips curved in a sneering half smile. "He was bred to be a superhuman, to summon the future, and he wasted all his powers on seeking the worship of puppets. He can't love his puppets—he can only love pulling their strings."
Nefron chuckled humorlessly. Krysty noted that blood had ceased flowing from her lip and the laceration had closed up. "I won't presume to debate you, since your guesses are more on target than off. However, if you value the lives of your friends, you'll at least pretend the strings are still attached to you and go through with the marriage ceremony."
Krysty regarded her silently for a moment. "Tell me why I should."
"Will you let me get up?"
Krysty inclined her head in a short nod. "You make a move I don't care for or even say something that rubs me the wrong way, and you'll die."
Carefully, with deliberate, slow caution, Nefron climbed to her feet, smoothing her tunic. Clearly, coldly, she declared, "Mildred is imprisoned. Only I know where she is, only I can save her life. And to employ your quaint puppet analogy, Jak dances to every one of my string tugs. As for the others, I can arrange to have their lives snuffed out in the blink of an eye. Even if you kill me, they will still die. All of them."
"And if I play along with this sick marriage farce, then what?"
"The only death will be Pharaoh's. I don't care about you or your people. After that's done, you can all go on your way."
"Why should I believe anything you say?"
"You shouldn't, but your options are severely limited. I admit to using you so my father would be occupied with gaining control over you and not sense what I have planned. But I never meant you harm. There was nothing personal in what I did."
Krysty lurched forward, fists clenched. Nefron stood her ground, head canted at a fearless, arrogant angle. "Kill me and you kill your friends. At this point, Pharaoh would not accept your refusal to wed him. He would force you, in shackles, to do so. Do it my way and you will be a widow within minutes of exchanging vows. You and your friends will be alive and free."
Some of the reckless anger went out of Krysty's posture. She shivered with the effort resisting the urge to call on the power of Gaia and rip Nefron's beautiful head from her shoulders. From between clenched teeth, she bit out three words. "I'll do it."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Mildred ran like a panicked deer, heedless of obstacles as she shouldered her way through the bustle of people in the compound. She had only one objective in mind—to reach the laborers' dormitory as quickly as possible before the body of Mimses was discovered.
She knew she looked ridiculous in his billowing, luridly colored robe, but bright hues were everywhere, from fluttering banners, bunting to body paint.
She squeezed her way through the revelers, and her toes caught on the dragging hem of the robe. She stumbled, nearly falling headlong to the ground. When a leanly muscled arm encircled her waist and kept her upright, she tried to struggle free, then saw the arm was attached to Doc Tanner.
With a half sigh, half sob of relief, she caught the startled man in an embrace. Hands on her shoulders, Doc gently pushed her back. When.he saw the terror in her eyes, he didn't employ his usual bantering tone or address her formally.
"Mildred, what are you doing here? Are you all right?"
She shook her head, beads clattering and rattling. Grabbing him by the forearm, she dragged him bodily through the press of the crowd. "Show me where John and Ryan are. Things have gone sour."
Doc tried to keep pace with her. "It is too dangerous for all of us to be together in one place. It
might jeopardize the escape plan."
"There is no escape plan," she blurted.
Doc's eyebrows lifted, but he didn't interrogate her. He took the lead and guided her into the dormitory. Though usually off-limits to women, there were plenty of females in attendance now, in various states of undress and sexual positions. He stepped over a man wildly humping between the outflung legs of a woman and checked the shower room. It was crowded with naked, coupling men and women.
Peering into the workroom, he saw it was virtually deserted except for Ryan and J.B. standing near a locker on the far wall. They were attired in clean tunics, and when they caught sight of him, their faces registered surprise and they gestured. Doc ducked back into the foyer, beckoned to Mildred and the two of them rushed in. She allowed J.B. to kiss her, then began talking rapidly and without pause.
Snarling, Ryan slammed a fist against the locker door. A muffled murmur from behind it made Doc and Mildred narrow their eyes. "That lying slut. I figured she was conning us."
"What are we going to do now?" J.B. demanded. "We still don't know where Jak is—or Krysty."
"I found Krysty and slipped her an ankh," Mildred said. "We can only hope it works and she'll make some moves of her own. What about you two?"
J.B. and Ryan indicated their upper chests. "We're wearing them," Ryan replied. "If Krysty doesn't move, then our only chance of snatching her is at the pyramid this evening."
"We've got to hole up somewhere until then," J.B. said. "And do something about—" he jerked his head toward the locker "— him."
"Who is 'him'?" Mildred asked.
"One of Pharaoh's drones," Ryan explained. "He came on us while we were making the amulets. He's been in the locker since last night."
"I suggest you leave him where he is," Doc said. "Once the body of Mimses is found, another squealer won't make much difference to our overall situation."
Ryan nodded grimly. "Let's split up, lose ourselves in the crowd. If anyone comes looking for us, they'll have a hell of a time finding us."
Doc frowned slightly. "Where and when should we meet you?"
