by CW Hawes
Until he knew otherwise, he had to entertain the possibility that there were other tunnels to the surface that were unknown and therefore unguarded. If it turned out there weren’t, then he’d have to use the one he knew about. Guarded or not. He had to assume there was a way out.
He wanted to see Dotty more than a brief visit every two weeks. And he wanted to see the sun, the moon, the stars. Not this goddamn blue light. Shit. He didn’t even like the color blue.
He finished the food on the plate and set it on the floor. Then he went to work on the bottle.
***
Running. Running with nowhere to hide. The hideous deformities that had been the soldiers assigned to protect his people were after him. And they were gaining on him because, being dead, they could never tire.
He turned a corner and ran down a deserted street. The blue light didn’t reach everywhere and there were no street lights. In front of him, from out of the shadows, they appeared. Dozens of deformities.
A faceless head, attached to a limbless torso with a face on its stomach, yelled, “Traitor! Traitor!” Another monstrosity, a shapeless lump of flesh, with hands and feet and a mouth, asked, in Dotty Kemper’s voice, “Why didn’t you help us? Why didn’t you save us?”
Mostyn stopped and turned to flee back down the way he came, only to see the rest of his team, all turned into y’m-bhi slaves, blocking his escape.
He turned around and the shapeless blob was in front of him. “Kiss me, Pierce. Kiss me.” It demanded, in Dotty’s voice.
Mostyn screamed. Hands were on him, shaking him.
“Mostyn Pierce, wake up! Wake up!”
He sat up, chest heaving. Staring him in the face wasn’t a shapeless hunk of flesh that had once been Dotty Kemper. It was the beautiful and concerned face of H’tha-dub.
“Mostyn Pierce, it was only a dream,” she said in Spanish. “You have no need to fear. You are awake and I am here.”
He looked around the room. The curtain had been pulled across the window, which made the light in the room soft and diffused. Giving it a feeling of twilight. His eyes returned to H’tha-dub.
She sent her thoughts to him. “You were dreaming. You are okay.” Her hand touched his face and Mostyn recoiled as though it were on fire.
In Spanish, she said, “It’s me, H’tha-dub, Mostyn Pierce.”
Mostyn replied in Spanish, “Get out! You barbarous bunch of barbaric savages! You tortured my people to death!”
He launched himself at her, got his hands on her neck, and they tumbled to the floor. He squeezed, his thumbs pushing in on her throat. However, she did not resist him. She simply lay there letting him strangle the life out of her.
When Mostyn realized she wasn’t fighting him, he released his hold on her neck, and sat on the floor. H’tha-dub stretched out her hand to touch his arm and, before she could touch him, he jumped up and went to the window, pulling the curtains aside.
“I think you are hurt, Mostyn Pierce. But I did not hurt you. I only want you to pleasure me and give me new experiences and I want to do the same for you.”
He turned around and faced her. “Were you there? Did you cheer?” he demanded.
“At the amphitheater?”
Mostyn nodded.
“No. I was not there.”
On hearing her words, his attitude softened somewhat, and seeing that, she said, “Let me comfort you, Mostyn Pierce. Let me take away the hurt.”
“You can’t. You can’t take away the hurt.”
She came up to him and hugged him. Holding him and gently rocking him side to side. After a few moments, Mostyn put his arms around her waist.
“Why me?” he asked. “Why are you interested in me?”
“You remind me of Pánfilo. Yet you are different. I loved Pánfilo and wanted him for myself. Instead he chose T’la-yub, only because she could help him escape. I felt such intense pain at his rejection. It was a new experience to hurt so. And yet I did not like it. I received permission to go to another affection group, as I could no longer endure the pain of even seeing Pánfilo. In the end, her y’m-bhi turned him over to the guards. She no longer knew who he was.”
“I’m sorry, H’tha-dub, for you having to experience his rejection. But don’t I cause you pain if I remind you of him?”
“You remind me of Pánfilo, and yet you are different from him.” She pulled away and held Mostyn at arm’s length. “You have… I don’t know the Spanish.” She looked into his eyes and Mostyn heard in his mind, “You have strength of character. You are a man of strong will. And that is new and exciting. The men here do not possess these qualities and I am filled with desire to know them and have them all to myself.”
Mostyn didn’t know quite how to respond and settled for, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“That was my intent, Mostyn Pierce.” She took him by the hand and led him to the table, chose a morsel of food and held it up to his mouth. After a moment’s hesitation he opened his mouth and she fed him.
“Pánfilo spoke of a thing he called marriage. It is where in your world a man and a woman make their own affection group and have children. He said that when children come, it is called a family. He told T’la-yub he would do marriage with her when they escaped.”
Mostyn looked at H’tha-dub and had a sinking feeling in his gut.
“I know you want to go back to your world. If you will do this marriage with me and take me with you to the upper world, I will try to help you escape.”
“H’tha-dub, I, I…” He looked at her and the words stuck in his throat. He closed his eyes. Dotty. Dotty’s face filled his mind.
Her voice, speaking Spanish, came to his ears, “You must make me your affection group, Mostyn Pierce, now. If you don’t, I will go away and you will remain here until you die.”
10
Mostyn was dumbstruck. He opened his eyes and turned away from H’tha-dub. Dotty. He loved Dotty. But to get his people out of the hell they were in, he’d have to commit himself to this woman. This K’n-yanian. He could tell her no. Or he could try to reason with her and explain to her his commitment to Dotty as the reason why he couldn’t make the commitment she asked of him. He could do that. And what would her response be? He swallowed down a bitter chuckle. She would be gone in a flash. She wanted no more heartaches such as Pánfilo had given her. And without H’tha-dub, what were the chances of getting anyone else to help him? What were the chances of him being able to escape by himself, let alone with the rest of his team? The answer to the latter questions was simple: he stood no chance.
As for finding someone else to help? The odds were very good everyone knew of Zamacona and T’la-yub. Their escape attempt, their capture, and her subsequent mutilation, decapitation, and reanimation as a y’m-bhi sent to warn forever the surface dwellers away from the gate in the mound.
And everyone undoubtedly knew of Zamacona’s second escape attempt, his capture by T’la-yub, and of his death by mutilation and his own reanimation as a y’m-bhi guard of the very passageway through which he’d sought his escape.
All that told Mostyn his chance of finding anyone to help him was next to zero. Who would want to risk being mutilated to death just to help a bunch of surface dwellers go home? People, whose death by mutilation might provide some rip-roaringly good entertainment?
Mostyn shook his head. No, the odds weren’t next to zero. They were less than zero.
He turned back to face her. She was standing as he’d left her. Watching him. What if this were a trick? A test. What if she was an agent of the chief executive? What if the K’n-yanians wanted an excuse, any excuse to get rid of Mostyn and his people?
She seemed devoid of guile. Then again, the same could probably be said of Mata Hari, Anna Chapman, and Belle Boyd. Yet, what choice did he have? He was going to make an escape attempt sooner or later — especially if Bardon was unable to mount a rescue attempt. He would either succeed or he wouldn’t. If H’tha-dub could help him, so much the better. If she
betrayed him, he wouldn’t be any worse off since the chance of an escape attempt succeeding was nil.
Mostyn looked her in the eyes and sent his thoughts to her. “I will do as you ask, but only if all of my people leave with us.”
Now it was H’tha-dub’s turn to contemplate the situation, but she did not take long. “If you will be my affection partner, then I will do as you ask so all of the surface dwellers can go home.”
“Thank you, H’tha-dub.”
She came to him and kissed him, her arms around his neck, her tongue probing his mouth. Mostyn tried to reply in kind, but his heart wasn’t in it. H’tha-dub was beautiful. Alabaster skin, hair that was as dark as a moonless night, the high cheekbones, slender Aquiline nose, and those thin yet shapely lips. The scent she wore was intoxicating.
Yet all he could think of was Dotty and, because of Dotty, Mostyn had no heart for this woman kissing him. Under other circumstances he would have felt himself lucky to be with her. Unfortunately, those other circumstances did not exist and Mostyn hated himself for having to deceive this woman to get what he wanted.
She broke the kiss and reached behind her back. The gold belt fell to the floor and her robe followed.
“Come, Mostyn Pierce.” She took his hand and pulled him towards the bed.
He followed. His steps wooden. When they reached the foot of the bed, she let go of his hand, and lay upon the sheets.
“Come, Mostyn Pierce. Come to me. Let us now become one flesh.”
***
Mostyn felt sick. The soft breaths of H’tha-dub touched his back. She was fast asleep. The sex had been exquisite, but Dotty’s face was ever before him and in the end he did not enjoy it. He’d done his best to pretend he was interested, and if H’tha-dub had any suspicions she’d said nothing. Several times in the midst of her ecstasy she’d cried out in her native language and always in the middle of the unknown words was “Mostyn Pierce”.
He got out of bed and walked to the window. No stars. Just the distant vaulted ceiling of stone and that hated blue light. No one was about on the street. It must be the rest period.
Dotty. Would she understand he’d betrayed her to free her and the others? Would she forgive him? In all honesty, Mostyn doubted she would. Dotty Kemper was hard as nails. Yet under that shell, she was soft and feminine and wanted to be loved and cared for. She wanted sweet nothings whispered in her ear and little butterfly kisses trailed down her back.
“Oh, God, what have I done?” The words came out freighted with despair.
He felt arms encircle his waist, and soft skin and hair against his left shoulder.
“What did you say, Mostyn Pierce?” The words were Spanish.
“I said I miss the stars.”
“I long to see them with you, Mostyn Pierce. Little dots of white light in a black expanse. Is that not so?”
“Yes.”
“Such a new experience! The longing to see them gives me such joy and pain. The pain of longing and the joy of anticipation. Oh, Mostyn Pierce…” She turned him around to face her and lay her head on his chest. “I like this feeling I have. It is new and exciting and I never want it to go away. I am very happy we have done this thing called marriage. I have never experienced such joy. And to think I almost went into km’bha.”
“What is km’bha?”
“It is a semi-spectral state some of us resort to when there is no more pleasure to be found in this life. Others resort to death when no more pleasure is to be found. You have given me back to life, Mostyn Pierce.”
“But what of the upper world? I will grow old and die. You can live forever, am I right?”
“If I so choose, I can become young again. I am over nine hundred years old.”
Mostyn lifted her face. She looked no more than perhaps twenty-five. “H’tha-dub, what will you do when I’m old and feeble? When I die?”
“I will grow old and feeble with you and I will die with you, Mostyn Pierce.”
“And you’re sure this is what you want?”
“Yes, Mostyn Pierce. This is what I want. Now come. Let us be… What did Pánfilo say?”
“Husband and wife?”
“Oh, yes! That is it! Come to me, my love. Let us be husband and wife.”
She was beautiful, this woman of an unknown and in so many ways superior race of human beings. Yet Mostyn could only think of Dotty and that even if they did escape, he’d lost everything worth living for.
11
When Mostyn woke, H’tha-dub was gone. He got out of bed, padded over to the bathroom and decided to take a bath. He looked in the mirror. He needed a shave. The K’n-yanian males had no mustaches or beards. Did they shave? Or didn’t they have facial hair? He’d have to inquire about getting a razor. He also needed to find out how many days had passed since coming to K’n-yan.
The bath water was warm and while Mostyn preferred a shower, he found the bath relaxing. One thing that puzzled him was why there had been no attempt so far by the OUP to rescue them. At least no attempt that he’d been made aware of. Maybe there had been and he was being kept in the dark about it. Which would make a lot of sense from the viewpoint of the K’n-yanians. Maybe H’tha-dub could find out for him.
At the thought of her, a great sadness came over him. If she did go with him to the surface, the OUP would latch onto her like Blackbeard onto a treasure ship. He would lose her and Dotty both. What a mess. What a goddamn mess.
He held his nose and slid under the water. For about twenty seconds he stayed there under the surface of the water and then sat up.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Mostyn,” he said out loud. “Your personal life has nothing to do with this mission. You have yourself and six other people to get out of here and back to the land of sun, moon, and stars. Your duty, mister, comes first. If you have to deceive H’tha-dub and cheat on Dotty in order to save six people, then that’s what you have to do. Because those six lives are what’s important. Not even your own life is as important as theirs. That’s the nature of this job, and you accepted it. Voluntarily. This mission is no different than any other.”
He got out of the tub, toweled off, and put on his robe. Another look in the mirror convinced him he needed a shave, and then he walked out of the bathroom.
H’tha-dub was not around and someone had cleared the table, taken the second table away, and left breakfast. Along with a new chair to replace the one he’d broken.
He sat at the table and began eating. The food was good, whatever it was. The beverage was some kind of fruit juice and tasted something like blueberries. There was meat on the plate and, like last time, he left it untouched.
Giving his situation some thought, he needed quite a bit of information. He’d have to find out how much H’tha-dub knew, and what she didn’t know he’d have to pick her brain as to the best way to get the answers he needed.
He needed to know what “day” it was. That is, how many days he had been in K’n-yan. Had Bardon made one or more rescue attempts? Where were his teammates being housed? And where was their equipment? They needed as much firepower as they could muster. For one, he didn’t remember hearing the machine gun firing. Which meant they had a potent weapon at their disposal, if they could get to it. There were the grenades, too. They could be a big help in slowing down any pursuing K’n-yanians. If they could get hold of their things, they would have a better chance at escaping.
Mostyn also needed to know where the tunnel was by which they entered K’n-yan in relation to the city, and the best route to it. And if there were any other tunnels by which they might escape.
Mulling over the list of information he needed, Mostyn quickly realized his dependence on H’tha-dub. There was no way he’d be able to get any of the information on his own. At least not without spending years learning the K’n-yanian world as had Zamacona. And the K’n-yanians, having dealt with the Spaniard, would be wary in talking with him, would be on their guard to not give him anything he might use to mount an escape atte
mpt. All the while, of course, trying to get data from him about the upper world. Which was why he had implemented Plan Epsilon. Be cooperative, yet give them nothing, and find out how to escape. If escape plans could be shared, share them. Otherwise, escape on your own.
The one advantage Mostyn had, as he saw it, was that he was not confined to the room. He and H’tha-dub could move about freely. He’d be able to use the relative freedom of movement to collect valuable data. And that gave him hope.
Breakfast finished, he left the table and went over to the window. From behind him, in Spanish, he heard, “You are always at that window, Mostyn Pierce. You look like a caged g’n-da longing for freedom.”
He turned around. “Where I’m from, we’d say a caged bird. Do you have birds here? Creatures that fly through the air? And sing pretty songs?”
“We do. However, we do not cage them. For then they cease to sing.”
“They must not take well to prison. Like people.”
“I suppose not,” she said.
Mostyn’s eyes swept the figure of H’tha-dub from her face to her feet. Her robe had a diamond-shaped cut from just below the collar to where her belt encircled her waist. God, she was beautiful. If it weren’t for the feelings he had for Dotty… He noticed she’d applied a light touch of makeup and looked even more ravishing than normal. The scent of her perfume wafted to him. Floral, with undertones of moss and musk.
Conflicting emotions of desire and regret seized him and he pushed them away. He had a duty to his team. She was expendable, as even he was expendable. She was a tool, he told himself. A tool to secure his team’s escape.
