Tales of the Shareem, Volume 2

by Allyson James

  “Shh,” Justin said. “No paying back. I’m glad I found a good thing to spend my money on.”

  She let her smile grow sinful. “I’ll find some way to show you how grateful I am.”

  Justin laughed, brushing his hair from his eyes with his bound wrists. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  They were quiet again, never mind the astronomical cost of the planet-to-planet interface.

  “I need to tell you,” Deanna said softly after a time. “Sybellie still hasn’t tried to get in touch with me. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s all right. It doesn’t matter.”

  Deanna knew it damn well did matter to him. “I’ll try to contact her again.”

  “That might not do any good. She and her friends aren’t meeting at that coffeehouse anymore. I don’t know where she goes now.”

  Alarm flitted through her afterglow. “Justin, you aren’t still going up to the Vistara, are you?”

  Justin avoided her gaze. “Discreetly.”

  “You know that your pardon was only good for the one time. If you’re arrested again, even Brianne might not be able to free you.”

  “I said discreetly, as in, no one sees me.”

  “Just don’t. Please. Stop going. When I get back, we’ll figure this whole thing out.”

  Justin didn’t answer. Deanna seethed in frustration about the light years between them. She couldn’t change his key codes and lock him into his house from the distance of Ariel.

  Of course, she’d quit her patroller job, so she wouldn’t be able to do it even on Bor Narga. But at least on Bor Narga she’d be able to stand next to him and yell at him.

  “Justin.”

  “Yeah?” He looked up from whatever distracted place he’d gone to.

  “Remember, when I told you I loved you?”

  “Yeah.” His worry left him, and his face softened with his smile. “I remember. Why? Want to take it back?”

  “No,” Deanna said. “I wanted to tell you, I meant it.”

  *** *** ***

  Discreetly, Justin had said. That meant he wore plenty of clothing and sun-blocking robes and took a tinted-windowed car up to the Vistara. He had Elisa hire him a different one every day—Shareem couldn’t hire cars themselves—so no one would report the same vehicle lingering on the streets.

  Justin looked every day for Sybellie, but he never spotted her. Not at the coffeehouse, not on the campus, not in the shops around it. He knew where her house was, thanks to Elisa’s information, but she must be staying with a friend, because she didn’t go home. Or, Sybellie might have gone home when Justin was back in Pas City—Justin couldn’t afford to stay too long each day.

  Deanna was right, though. He needed to be careful. He had something to keep himself free for now.

  And then, the day after he did his self-bondage session for Deanna, Justin found Sybellie.

  His daughter walked along the street on the edge of the university’s campus, a little pack at her side for her handheld and whatever other devices she carried. She was alone, her friends nowhere in sight.

  Justin couldn’t stand it. He turned off the car, unsealed the door, got out, and walked quickly to the campus.

  He was covered from head to foot, sun-blocking material over his nose and mouth. As soon as he stepped onto the campus, he felt the air cool, the protective shielding shutting out the worst of the sun’s heat.

  Sybellie strolled along, her head down, mind on wherever she was going. Justin stepped in front of her, and she stopped.

  “Excuse me,” she said politely.

  Sybellie started around him, and Justin stepped in front of her again.

  Now Sybellie looked up in alarm, mouth open to call for help. Justin unwrapped the material from his face and said, “Sybellie.”

  “Oh.” She looked relieved but puzzled. “Mr. Justin, right? You’re friends with that patroller.”

  “Yes.”

  He didn’t move, and Sybellie frowned. “It’s nice to see you Mr. Justin, but I have a class.”

  “Can you talk to me for just . . .” Justin swallowed, his voice not working. “Just a minute.”

  Please, please, just a minute to let me look at you.

  “Did Deanna send you to persuade me to call her?” Sybellie asked. “Can you tell her I haven’t made up my mind yet? I still have to think about it.”

  “No.” Justin clenched his hands at his sides. “Deanna didn’t send me.”

  “I shouldn’t be talking to you about it then.”

  She turned slightly, and Justin stepped in front of her again.

  “Sybellie.” He loved the sound of her name. “Deanna didn’t send me.”

  “You’ve just said that.”

  “She’ll want to kick my ass when she finds out.” Justin couldn’t stop himself putting his hand on Sybellie’s slim shoulder. “But I couldn’t wait anymore. I had to see you.”

  Sybellie frowned, her mouth forming the wh of Why?

  Then she stopped, her mouth going slack. She looked at him, really looked at him, and took a step back.

  “It’s you,” she whispered. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

  Justin could only nod, his throat closed too hard for him to speak.

  “How can it be?” Sybellie asked. “Who are you? I don’t even know your name. Your entire name, I mean.”

  Justin smiled a little. “It’s just Justin.”

  “But . . .” Her eyes filled with sudden tears, and she shook her head. “This isn’t fair. I have a class. But I have to talk to you, I have to ask you . . . everything.”

  Justin squeezed her shoulder, wishing he dared pull her close, but too many people walked across the busy campus. “I’ll wait. I’ll wait here for you, and we’ll talk. I’ve been waiting twenty-five years.”

  “Oh, gods, this is so not what I thought it would be like.” Sybellie wiped her eyes. “Damn it, I have a class.”

  Justin started to laugh, but his laughter was drowned by a sudden and sharp-pitched siren. Sybellie’s eyes widened. “Sandstorm!”

  So the nice people on the Vistara got a warning siren, did they? In Pas City, the wind simply howled through the streets, and the people dove for the nearest shelter.

  Sybellie fumbled for her breath mask. “So much for class. And the shelter is all the way over there.” She pointed down the artificial green of the campus.

  “The campus is shielded, isn’t it?” Justin looked up at the sky through the shield, where not even a stray speck of dust yet marred the blue.

  “Against the sun. Not sandstorms. Crap, we won’t make it.”

  Justin saw it now, a wall of dirt pouring down the wide avenues toward them. The far buildings on the campus were already engulfed.

  “My car,” he said. “Run!”

  “Your car’s shielded from sandstorms?”

  Justin grabbed her hand and propelled her into the street. The heat and wind struck them with force as soon as they left the protected campus.

  Justin unlocked the door and shoved her inside, sprinting around to the driver’s side. Now to see if he could start up and get the hell out of there before the sandstorm flipped the car over and ground it to a pile of metal.

  The doors sealed, shutting out the smell of dirt. Warning, the car’s computer told him as soon as he brought it to life. Approaching sandstorm.

  “No shit,” Justin said.

  Nearest shelter at seventeen degrees.

  “Fine.”

  Justin hit the “Accept” button, which would let the car calculate wherever the hell seventeen degrees from their position was. The car obediently started to move, but too slowly for Justin’s peace of mind. He’d just found his daughter and had dragged her into the path of a killer sandstorm . . .

  She sat next to him, eyes wide as she watched the storm come, her hand gripping the handholds. Her breath came quickly, but she wasn’t screaming in panic or screeching at him to do something. She seems to have a lot of sense, Deanna had said. He was so prou
d of that.

  The shelter was a low building about a block away, whose doors started to slide back into concrete and steel walls when they reached it, again, too slowly for his comfort.

  The sandstorm hit them. One moment, Justin was looking at the steel doors in white walls, the next, he couldn’t see them at all.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  He hit the accelerator, screw waiting for the car to calmly drive itself into the shelter.

  The car leapt forward, brushing the still-moving doors with a metallic shriek. A blast of sand-laden wind picked up the rear of the car and slammed it forward, spinning the car around.

  Justin saw the dim interior of a small, single-car shelter whirling before them, then the sand pouring in at them, then the automated shelter doors as they met and closed.

  The doors sealed. The sand that had blown in smashed itself against the car and the walls of the shelter, then dropped harmlessly to the ground.

  Justin shut off the car and twisted to face Sybellie. “You all right?”

  Sybellie pulled off her silk veils, flapping sand out of them. Her hair glistened in the car’s weak interior light, brown streaked with gold.

  “I’m fine. Just dirty. Do you always swear in front of women?”

  Justin grinned. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

  Sybellie grabbed her handheld. “Let me tell my parents I’m okay.”

  “Sure.”

  Sybellie quickly typed a message, then tossed her handheld, her pack, and her veils into the backseat and let out a long breath.

  “Well,” she said. “I guess we have time to talk now.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Justin’s fingers shook as he set the car’s internal air controls. “I guess we do.”

  “All right then. Who are you, who is my mother, why did you have me, why did you give me up, and why did it take twenty-four years for me to be able to ask you these questions?”

  “Shit.” Justin raised his hands. “Give me a sec.”

  “You’ve had twenty-four years.”

  “I know. It’s complicated. What did Deanna tell you?”

  “That you were off planet, that I couldn’t tell anyone about you, not even my adopted parents. Tell me why.”

  She was going to make him spill everything. Not, you’re my dad, that’s great, let’s go for ice cream. Sybellie wanted to know who he was. What he was.

  Justin cleared his throat and decided to get it over with.

  “I’m Shareem.”

  Sybellie’s expression didn’t change. “What’s Shareem? What planet is that from?”

  “A Shareem is from Bor Narga, and he’s a man who looks like me.” Justin’s eyes narrowed. “And, by the way, if you ever see a Shareem who’s not me, you stay away from him. Don’t talk to him, don’t smile at him, don’t even let him know you noticed him. Promise me.” If any of them touched his daughter, Justin would explain how much he didn’t like that by cutting off the part that Shareem held dearest.

  Sybellie fixed him with a steely look. “You still haven’t told me what a Shareem is.”

  “You know, I’m glad you don’t know.” But Sybellie deserved the truth, and if she despised Justin for it, then she did. “Shareem were created in a factory. Made by a company called DNAmo, a long time ago. Most Bor Nargans don’t think we’re even human. But we are.” Talan had once proved, by making a DNA examination, that they were.

  “DNAmo.” She looked thoughtful. “I’ve heard of them. Didn’t they manufacture the perfect servants, or something? Then they were shut down.”

  “They were shut down because of Shareem. They did make the perfect servants—majordomos and butlers and maids—then they went on to creating slaves. Like me.”

  Sybellie’s eyes widened. “You can’t be a slave. Slavery’s illegal.”

  “Was a slave. Or—I don’t know if they ever managed to make us truly obedient. We’re all pretty good at doing what we want.” Justin curled his fingers into his palms. “We were pleasure slaves.”

  “Oh.”

  Was that an “Oh” of disgust? Surprise? Outrage?

  Not something a man wanted to tell his daughter—I was born and bred for fucking, to be the best at sexing women who paid DNAmo for the pleasure.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “For what?” Sybellie’s voice was quiet.

  He risked a look at her. She was studying him, but with intense interest, not derision. “For not being a prince or something equally impressive. For having been created in a vat full of chemicals, for being a slave who ended up as a dock worker on another planet. And now I’m back here, where I’m the lowest of the low. I bet this is not what you always dreamed your father would be.”

  “I didn’t dream about it much, to be honest. I was curious, yes, but I realized how lucky I was to be where I am, with parents who love me.”

  “Good,” Justin said fervently. “I’m glad they do.”

  “And my real mother? Where is she?”

  “Her name was Lillian. She was a girl from Pas City who signed on to be a guinea pig at DNAmo, to take part in experiments with Shareem. I won’t tell you what kind of experiments, but you can probably guess. When she found out she would have you, she quit, and I was shipped off planet. Now she’s a celibate in the Way of the Sun.” He smiled shakily. “Your crazy parents.”

  “So you were never lifemates?”

  Justin shook his head. “Never had the chance. They sent me off, and I never saw her again.”

  “And you’re sure, one hundred percent sure, that the baby she had was me? And that you are the father?”

  “If you want a DNA test, we can do that. I know a medic . . . she’s off planet right now, but she’ll be back soon. But even if you do take the test—you can’t tell anyone. It’s too dangerous. My medic friend is the only one we can trust to keep the results secret.”

  “I’d like the DNA test,” Sybellie said. “But only so both of us can be certain.” She reached over and put her hand on his arm. “But I believe you.”

  Relief flowed through him, and an elation that drove away every moment of despair and heartache of the last twenty and more years. He wished Deanna could be here to share the moment with him, but she’d be back. She’d be back, and Justin would never let her go again.

  “Now tell me why it’s too dangerous for anyone to know you’re my real father,” Sybellie said.

  “Because Shareem aren’t supposed to be dads. They created us to be sterile. Guess it didn’t work, at least not on me.”

  “And so if people knew I was half Shareem . . .”

  Justin’s worry returned. “I have no idea what they’d do to you. Test you, sequester you, open you up and have a look inside. At best, they’d classify you as Shareem, and then no more graduate degree, no more nice house on the Vistara, no more friends. No more anything. I can’t do that to you.”

  “You mean they’d say I wasn’t human. Or not completely.” Sybellie looked somber but not afraid. Deanna had said she was smart. “And on Bor Narga, non-humans don’t have the same rights as humans.”

  “We are human,” Justin said. “My friends have proved that—ladies of other Shareem. But the Bor Nargans won’t admit it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. I guess because Shareem represent a time before sexual inhibition, when things around here were a little crazy.”

  “We all study that in history. Bor Narga was once a barbarian culture, with women little better than slaves. But that was a long time ago. No one would want that again.”

  Justin shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I think people believe that if Shareem are allowed to run amok, society will degenerate back to barbarian times.”

  “Ridiculous.”

  “Try telling that to the ruling family. They like ruling. Anything they see as a threat to that, they stomp.” Justin opened his hands. “That’s the way it is.”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  “Sybellie, no
,” Justin said quickly. “Keep your mouth shut. You don’t know about Shareem, you don’t know I’m one, and you have nothing to do with me. I won’t see you again. I just wanted to today. At least once.”

  She gave him another patient look. “I can help Shareem without revealing I am one. No one will know without checking my DNA against yours, right?”

  “I think so. My medic friend knows all about that shit.”

  “Then I won’t take the test, if it makes you feel better.” Sybellie lifted her chin, a stubborn little tilt that made his heart burn.

  “But you want to be sure,” Justin said.

  “Not if it endangers us. What if someone else saw the results?”

  “Katarina would destroy the results before that could happen.”

  “It’s still risky. If you’ve been looking for me all this time, have been following me around wanting to talk to me . . . then you must be sure.”

  “But . . .”

  Sybellie shot him an exasperated look. “Now I know you’re my dad. You’re driving me crazy.”

  Justin started laughing. Happiness tore through him, and his heart broke.

  He reached for her, elation filling him when she didn’t shrink away.

  He gathered her into his arms. Sybellie seemed shy at first, but then she put her arms around him, her body feather-light, and Justin had the joy, for the first time, of holding his daughter close.

  *** *** ***

  Justin swore that the sandstorm was the shortest in Bor Nargan history. He and Sybellie spent it talking about everything—her life, her studies, her hopes and ambitions. He learned that she was very good at soccer and met her soccer companions every day after practice for a little snack before midmorning classes—the other three young ladies in the coffeehouse.

  She wasn’t as good at poetry and music, she confessed, but not bad at finance. Her mother liked that—her adopted mother—who half-owned a bank. Sybellie would probably end up working there, hence why she was going for a higher degree in techno-finance.