Abducted

by Evangeline Anderson

  “What does it matter?” I said, frowning. “It’s a common enough sight.”

  “Not on Gallana,” he said, shifting. He was dressed in a long, black cloak that fell from his narrow shoulders and swirled around him as he moved. “This is the only place on this Gods-forsaken spaceport where a male can get a little peace and quiet away from the meddling of females.”

  “You are sahjist?” The sahjists were a group of dispossessed males—mostly half or quarter Majorans that didn’t like the way their society was run. They refused to believe in the Goddess-hood of the Empress or the sovereignty of females in general. It went further than that for some of them, though. They said they only wanted equal rights for males but some of them, I knew, fucking hated females with every bone in their bodies. Those were the types—the radicals—you had to watch out for. Especially in a place like Gallana.

  “Not a sahjist, exactly,” the male with the blue hair said. “But I don’t believe in letting females run your life. Of course, they have their uses…” he nodded at the row of sucking, artificial mouths where the Xlexian was just finishing. “But to claim they are superior or in some way divine, well…that’s just foolish. They ought to be kept in their place—preferably chained to a male’s bed. Am I right?”

  He laughed heartily but I didn’t join in. Instead, I took a step away, looking around the district.

  “You’d better keep your voice down,” I told him. “Expressing sentiments like that is liable to earn you a night in lock-down.”

  The Peace Keepers don’t patrol the unattached males district often but when they do, you’d better look out. That’s when all the shady characters you meet on the street melt away and the dirty, rutted walkway is deserted. We were safe for now though—I could still see a cloning-mech trying to sell his services to a male dressed in a trawler pilot’s uniform.

  “Anyone you want—any female that ever caught your eye but you couldn’t have her,” he was saying. “You can have her now—and do whatever you want with her. Doesn’t matter if she wants it or not—take what you want—what’s rightfully yours. It’s perfectly legal because you’ll own her. All it costs is a hundred creds and a small sample of her DNA.”

  The deal turned my stomach. The idea of treating a helpless female so harshly was repugnant to me—even if she was a clone. My thoughts must have shown on my face, though I tried to keep my expression impassive, because the male beside me spoke again.

  “Forgive me. I see you don’t share my views,” he said smoothly.

  “I’m Vorn. Half Vorn, anyway. We don’t believe in worshiping our females like the Gods-damned Majorans but we don’t mistreat them either,” I said harshly. As I spoke, I had a guilty flash of Zoe as I had left her, held tight by the Force-Locks and secured in her room. I pushed the image away irritably—locking her up for safe keeping had been necessary. There was nothing else I could do.

  “Forgive me,” he said again. “Let us speak of more pleasant things, shall we? Such as the fascinating collection of Assimilation medical equipment I understand you have for sale?” Seeing my startled look he added, “I am Count Doloroso, collector of oddities. Your A.L. contacted me about your collection. You are Sarden de’Lagorn, are you not?”

  “I am,” I said. “But I don’t intend to conduct business here. Let’s go inside and get a drink.”

  In the dim interior of The Suck Hole we found a seat and Doloroso pressed the chipped call button for service.

  A fembot waitress with long, matted blue hair and hugely inflated breasts tottered over.

  “How can I service you?” she asked in an artificially seductive tone, batting her eyes—one of which had been blinded by an angry patron and still had the stump of a serving fork sticking out of its empty socket. “Would you care to try my pleasure holes?”

  Lifting the tattered skirt she wore, she displayed a flat, fleshy pelvis with three vaginal slits—one in the center, between her legs where it should be, and two set above it, beside her hip bones. They formed a kind of obscene, inverted triangle.

  “I am able to service all manner of species, not just the Twelve Peoples,” she reported mechanically. “Even three-shafted Yarons are welcome.”

  “Thank you my dear, but we just want something to drink,” Doloroso said smoothly. “A pitcher of your finest Majoran ale, I think.” He looked at me. “Have you ever had it dirty?”

  “No,” I said. “What’s that?”

  “They bring the pitcher and drop a shot of Black Terbian Fire Brandy into it. It’s quite good.”

  I shrugged. “Works for me.”

  “Make it dirty,” Doloroso told the fembot. She nodded jerkily and tottered off. She returned shortly with a full pitcher of amber ale and a small glass filled with murky black liquid. Setting the tray down with erratic movements, she dropped the entire glass into the pitcher.

  A small splash and tendrils of black began to infiltrate the amber. For some reason my stomach lurched uneasily and I thought of Zoe again. Was she all right?

  Of course she’s all right—she’s safe, I told myself sternly. She can’t get out of those Force-Locks no matter what she does and she can’t get into any trouble locked in her room. She’s fine. Relax.

  I tried to but the worried feeling kept nagging at my mind, even as I made the deal with the Count.

  Zoe

  Making my way through the crowded, dark room with only the dim light from the manacles to help me wasn’t easy. There were some areas where the large pieces of medical equipment were packed too tightly together to squeeze through so I had to find a way around. I went carefully, but as quickly as I could. Who knew when Sarden would be back? I wanted to be long gone by the time he got to my room and found I had done a disappearing act. Always, I kept my eyes trained on the pale golden rectangle of daylight outlining the door at the back.

  Keep it up, Zoe—you can do it! You’re almost there, I told myself. Daylight and freedom are on the other side of that door. I hoped, anyway.

  Finally, after what seemed like hours of fumbling through the darkness, I got to the end of the vast room and found myself standing in front of the door outlined in golden light.

  Only it wasn’t a door.

  When I stepped forward and waved the manacles at it, instead of whooshing open, the entire rectangle lit up. Rather than a door, I saw a tall tank, not unlike the vertical bathtubs in the bathrooms. The whole thing glowed with the pale, golden light I’d thought was sunlight and it was filled with some kind of clear yellow liquid.

  The top part of the tank was empty, with just a few lazy bubbles rising to the surface. The bottom, however, had a layer of some kind of shiny black sludge.

  “Great. Just great,” I said aloud, putting my hands on my hips so the manacles clanked. “Not a door at all.”

  At the sound of my voice—or maybe it was the clinking of the manacles, I don’t know—the sludge at the bottom of the tank stirred. It had collected mostly in one corner and it billowed lazily in an invisible current, looking almost like a piece of black cloth. Or maybe…a tentacle?

  I frowned, whatever it was, it wasn’t a door, which meant I had to keep searching. Damn it! My heart sank all the way down to my shoes—or would have if I’d been wearing any. Actually, my bare feet felt like ice from walking on the cold metal floor. Well, I could see the back wall by the deceptive yellowish glow of the tank. Maybe the best thing would be to go to it and start making my way around the perimeter of the room, feeling for an exit as I went.

  Something stirred in the tank again—another faint billowing motion—and I felt something wet and warm touch my wounded cheek.

  What the hell?

  I jerked back involuntarily—it was almost as though someone with a very wet, cold mouth had just given me a sloppy kiss. I put my fingers to my face and they came away wet. But when I examined my fingertips in the faint glow of the manacles, all I saw was blood—the dripping must have been what caused the weird feeling on m
y cheek.

  Well, crap—and here I’d thought it was beginning to clot over.

  “Better get going, Zoe,” I told myself aloud. Sighing, I began to make my way around the tank, blotting my cheek carefully as I went. Was I ever going to stop bleeding? Maybe I really did need stitches although I had no idea where I would get them.

  Just as I was right beside the tank, I saw something move from the corner of my eye. A flash of shiny obsidian that seemed to glimmer in the dimness like a black star.

  Then something curled around my waist and I was yanked up into the air.

  Sarden

  “Tell me about your collection,” Doloroso said, taking a swig of his black infused ale. “Are the pictures your A.L. showed me accurate? He sent me only a few but what I saw intrigued me greatly.”

  “Absolutely accurate,” I assured him. “I’ve had the lot for almost ten cycles now, stored in my hold. Never used any of it—it came with my ship when I won it.”

  “Won it from who?” he wanted to know, taking another sip.

  “Male by the name of Heir Misener,” I said, taking a drink myself. The ale was smooth but the Fire Brandy burned my mouth and sinuses fiercely. I liked it. “Science officer with the Assimilation before they were defeated.”

  “And who says they were all defeated?” His eyes gleamed strangely. “Maybe they just went underground, waiting for a more opportune time to ah, emerge.”

  I frowned at the idea. The Assimilation was an empire which started on the inner ring world of Sha-meth. The Sha-methians had worked hard to build a completely automated society. Predictably, their control systems had been given too much sentience and power and had taken over. These sentient systems downloaded themselves into the brains of the living occupants of Sha-meth and ran them like living corpses which they called “The Assimilated.” Their rise to power had happened with dizzying suddenness and in the ensuing conflict—called the War of Assimilation—they had nearly overthrown the current regime some fifty cycles earlier.

  Led by the Majorans, the rest of the Twelve Peoples descended from the Ancient Ones had fought and died to keep them from taking the entire galaxy. Their soldiers were notoriously difficult to kill and impossible to subvert—some said due to the obedience chips implanted at the base of their skulls. Heir Misener, the old bastard I’d won my ship and the medical equipment from, had gotten his chip removed, shortly after the war’s end. He’d been able to think for himself—not too well, though, or he wouldn’t have bet his whole ship on a single hand of double-blind-Trill, but those were the breaks.

  We had learned from the War of Assimilation and now all Artificial Life forms had built in controls which kept them from desiring power. But if the Assimilation had won, it would have been a different story—every sentient creature in the known galaxy would have been implanted with an obedience chip and we would have lost our free will forever.

  “You better hope the Assimilation isn’t just waiting underground somewhere,” I told my buyer, frowning. “I sure as hell don’t want to be wearing an obedience chip—I wouldn’t think you would either.”

  “Obedience is a small price to pay for a galaxy run with perfect order and precision. So the Assimilated used to say,” he remarked.

  “They had fucking robots living in their skulls. They’d say anything they were told to say,” I pointed out. “Why are you so interested in the Assimilation anyway?”

  He shrugged eloquently. “As I said, I am a collector of oddities. The War of Assimilation is an area of particular interest to me so I collect relics from it in my spare time to amuse myself.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, not completely convinced. There was something strange about this male—something I didn’t quite trust. His Majoran hair and smooth, light tan skin weren’t the only features that didn’t match. His scent was confused too—mixed up—almost as though he was two separate people. Of course, being only half Vorn, my sense of smell isn’t as strong as it could’ve been. But it was strong enough to let me know something wasn’t right with Count Doloroso.

  “There is one piece I’m especially interested in.” He leaned across the table, his eyes gleaming strangely again. “A chip-drill. Here—let me show you.”

  He activated his holo-ring—a hell of a lot nicer than my own—and a small image appeared hovering above it. It looked like a round, blue glass ball with a twisted metal blade coming out of it.

  I stared at it uneasily and for some reason Zoe rose to my mind again. No, she’s fine, I told myself and pushed the worry away.

  “It’s an instrument for making just the right pathway for chip implantation,” Doloroso explained. “Once it tasted the subject’s blood, it knew exactly how far to drill.” The holo projected by his ring jerked as the curving silver blade shot out without warning.

  I actually jumped back a little.

  “Hell of a nasty thing,” I growled. “I think I’ve seen it. Pretty sure it’s with the rest of the stuff in the hold.”

  “Good—excellent.” He gave me a very satisfied look. “And there’s just one more thing I hope you have. A sensitivity tank. Looks like this I believe.”

  He made another motion and the chip-drill disappeared to be replaced by a yellow, glowing tank with murky black tendrils waving inside it.

  “Those are sensu-pods,” he said, indicating the tendrils which now looked more like tentacles. “The tank sustains them with its liquid but they feed best on the emotions and sensations of sentient beings. They’re quite good at measuring sensitivity. How long did you say you’d had this equipment?”

  “Around ten cycles,” I said absently.

  “Hmmm…” He nodded. “I imagine the sensu-pods in your particular tank are quite hungry by this time.”

  I stirred in my chair, remembering my own plans for the tank. I needed it for Zoe’s sensitivity test. Although knowing what I did now about her fear of being submerged in liquid gave me pause about using it. Still—what else could I do since I had refused the Commercians’ testing? I pictured her floating in the tank and felt another stab of worry. Again I pushed it to the back of my mind.

  “I do have that as well, I know,” I said. “But it’s the only piece that’s not for sale. I need it for…personal matters.”

  “You have a subject you wish to test?” His eyes gleamed. “One who has been recently transported, perhaps? From what world did you buy her? A newly opened one? There have been rumors recently…most intriguing ones.”

  “Where I got her is my business,” I said shortly. I didn’t like the idea of Count Doloroso tracking down the Commercians and scanning the Alien Mate Index for an Earth female of his own. I was fairly certain whoever he picked and paid for wouldn’t be treated well at all.

  He shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Very well, but do be careful if you use it. The liquid that sustains the sensu-pods is toxic to most sentient beings if left on the skin for too long. Whoever you’re testing must be thoroughly cleansed of it if you don’t wish them to go into cardiac shock.”

  “Is that right?” I felt more uneasy about using the tank than ever.

  “Really,” he said seriously. “Honestly, after such a long time without use, the tank is really not fit for anything but a collector’s item. So I hope you’ll reconsider my offer. I really need it.”

  “You need it?” I frowned. “I thought you just collected this stuff for fun.”

  “I mean, I need it to complete my collection,” he answered smoothly. “And I’m willing to pay handsomely to get it.”

  “How much?” I asked.

  He named a price that nearly made me spit out my mouthful of ale and brandy.

  “Goddess of Mercy!” My voice rasped a little.

  “And twice that for the entire lot,” Doloroso assured me. “But only if it’s complete. Just think—you can clear your hold of a lot of old junk, and I can complete my Assimilation collection—we both win.”

  “Show me your credit,” I said. “
I don’t know many people that have that much just to spend on a hobby for the hell of it.”

  “Here you go—test it yourself.” He handed me a cred-card—black with gold bands. When I pressed the emerald chip embedded in its center, a small holo-figure popped up and hovered briefly over the card before dissipating like a whiff of smoke.

  He was telling the truth.

  “You can see that’s from the First Bank of Femme 1,” he said, taking back the card when I handed it to him. “A guarantee of authenticity and secure funds. So…are you interested?”

  “You know I am,” I said evenly. I still didn’t like to give up the tank but with this much credit, fixing the hydrogen scoop’s panel wouldn’t break me—that was if I could find a mechanic to fix it. As for Zoe’s testing—I would have to get it done elsewhere. I didn’t like the idea of her in that tank, especially knowing that the liquid could be toxic—didn’t like it at all.

  Zoe

  It happened so fast, I didn’t have any idea what was going on. How could I be standing on my own two feet one minute, and then hovering three feet above the weird tank filled with yellow liquid the next? Before I could answer the question, I found myself plunging down as something pulled me into the liquid which closed over my head.

  At once I was back in the swimming pool, back when I was so little—almost too young to remember, and yet much too old to ever forget. I heard myself crying my little sister’s name, saw her sinking in the water below me, eyes open wide, limbs flailing. I couldn’t reach her…couldn’t reach her because neither of us could swim…

  My head was yanked back above the surface and I took a choking, gasping breath. I wasn’t in the swimming pool at the neighbor’s house—I was in a tank in an alien spaceship and something had me by the waist. What was it?

  Looking down, I saw a thick, slimy tentacle wrapped around my waist like some kind of belt. I grabbed it and tried to push it down—to push it off. It was slimy and horribly warm under my hands—almost hot. What the Hell was it?