by Annalise
When he regained control, he looked at himself in the mirror. “I’ve become a fucking nutcase.”
His third attempt to find Evans among the unimproved women available for his pleasure was interrupted by a message from General Richter. Link swore when he saw that his leave on Earth was being curtailed.
He was to report to the launch site for pre-flight exams, Tuesday of the next rota. That meant he had little time left for hanging out in brothels. Once he started pre-flight exams, he’d be too busy at the base for any play time from now until ignition.
He activated the card and made a quick choice. A blonde beauty. Improved. Back massage only. Maybe somehow he could find out what had happened to Evans.
At the brothel desk, he again used a quaint pen to sign-in. As he handed the antique back to the receptionist, he asked him, “What happened to G752H? I didn’t see her on the roster.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, sir. We can’t give out that information. But usually it just means an attendant is on leave.” The young man touched Link’s hand in an intimate way and leaned near. “Everyone needs a little respite from their job now and then, even those who love their work.”
Link stepped back from the receptionist’s beaming smile and minty breath and took the familiar slideway to the section where massages were administered.
All around him, men and women moved about as they would at any hotel. There was nothing to suggest what went on behind the closed doors.
The blonde masseuse was a treat, her hands talented, but he could think only of Evans, of how her hands felt on him. As he contemplated the waste of his credits on this empty experience, the usual voice informed him of upgrades.
He started at the words that followed.
“We have a special event taking place in our quadrangle today. For one hundred credits, you can watch a foolhardy woman sunning herself. Not a sight for the squeamish, but you might enjoy it,” finished the voice. “The event begins in ten minutes. Simply say ‘Special Event’ and your wish is our command.”
Link wondered at the cheap price on the voyeurism and then realized the woman in the quad would not be a volunteer. He imagined spectators would see some poor soul grovel and beg to be let in from the sun’s blistering rays.
The thought sickened him. He’d seen the scars resulting from UV badges being ignored. The only place to safely hang out in the sun was north of here. Far, far north. Polar bear land. Or what was once polar bear land.
Evans. Sweet, unavailable, Evans.
He said, “Special Event,” in a rush and thought he could hear the credits evaporate in voyeurism, but something in his gut told him exactly where he would find Evans.
He snatched his robe from the attendant and despite her obvious displeasure at being deserted, he stormed out of the chamber. He dressed in moments and found a guide waiting to escort him to his assigned window for the special event.
* * * * *
Evans would not let them drag her to the center of the green sward. She strode between two of The Palace guards with the demeanor of her military rank though she was naked. A third man attached a cuff to her ankle and secured the long attached chain to a ring protruding from the grass. Fully protected themselves in long pants, long sleeves, hats, and UV glasses, they ignored her nudity.
She refused to beg.
They left her there, in the center of the grassy area surrounded by lush gardens with no shelter and nothing to drink. The heady scent of flowers filled the space. The grass beneath her feet was soft and lush. She presumed it was watered each night, or it would be dead straw.
The beat of the sun’s rays on her bare skin heated her rapidly. She became woozy in only a few minutes. After a brief moment of surprise that it all affected her so quickly, she realized the drugs they fed her must enhance the effect of the sun.
Above her loomed blank windows. Stories and stories of them. She bowed her head to shield her face.
How many sick souls stared down at her? How many of them wanted to see her beg and scream to be let in? How many of them hoped she’d resist, so they could watch her skin redden, then blister?
Fuck you all.
She sat on the grass and curled inward, making herself as small as possible.
Chapter 11
Link felt the bile rise in his throat. He left the window and ran along the slideway to the reception area. He grabbed the young man by his glittering tunic. “Show me to the management.”
The woman who ushered him into her quiet, windowless office was every bit as attractive as the attendants but she didn’t do a thing for his libido. He waited until she had taken her seat, but only barely.
The instant her bottom hit the cushion, he leaned toward her, balling his fists on the desk. “I want the torture of that woman stopped.”
The woman folded her hands in front of her and considered him for a moment. “I’m sorry. We don’t interfere in the pleasures of our guests or counteract the wishes of our attendants.”
“Wishes? She’d have to be mad to opt for a ‘sunning,’ as you call it.”
The woman took a deep breath and glanced at a data screen on a small console by the desk. “But she did, Sir, I assure you. And I’m afraid that you really don’t have enough credits to lodge a protest. You are one of our, shall we say, less profitable customers. Your name does not even appear on our list. I assume you obtained your card by purchasing it from a member in need. How you got it is immaterial to us, but only as long as you abide by our rules. Should you abuse the privileges that accompany membership, we can and will revoke your card.”
Link could barely contain his fury. This administrator had the audacity to sit here, as cool as you please, lecturing him on proper behavior, while Evans was roasting alive.
“How am I abusing the membership by demanding you stop the sadistic treatment of an attendant?”
“You are abusing the membership by curtailing the pleasure of others.” The woman played with a thick gold ring on her thumb. “Many enjoy the suffering of others. It’s a fact of life. Should we—both the management and the attendant—choose to provide them with the entertainment they desire, it is not your concern.”
Link took a deep breath. He had no idea how to get into the quadrangle. The minutes Evans had already spent there made his skin break out in a sweat. Who knew how much longer she would last?
Computations for permanent damage from UV exposure ran through his head, tumbling about with calculations of how much profit The Palace was making from her agony. He set the thoughts aside and strove for control. It was his turn to take a deep breath.
The woman spoke before he could renew his protest. “In fact, sir, you cannot protest actions that arose from your own complaints of the attendant’s poor service.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I have it here,” she tapped her screen with a long fingernail polished a dark green, “that you indicated your displeasure at her less than genuine orgasm.”
His words came back to him, along with his irritation that she’d faked a climax.
A deep anger welled up inside him. “I wasn’t displeased. No woman can control some of the physical indications of orgasm. And that attendant has several.”
He paused, realizing he might be giving away too much of his history with Evans. “Or she did when I purchased her services for a shower scenario.
“Sweet Sol,” he swore. “I wasn’t complaining. I merely commented.” He shot to his feet. “It was NOT a complaint! I’ll sign a testament to that effect, an affidavit, whatever you want. How do I get her off the hook?”
The woman gave him a smile as cold as the quadrangle must be hot. “Purchase only, I’m afraid.”
“Ah. I see. She’s a pain in the ass and you’d like to get rid of her.” That he could readily imagine. He’d bet she’d been a pain in the ass. Evans in a subservient position never had seemed right to him. “So, I can solve your problem by taking her off your hands. How much?”
The woman sat up straighter. Her fingertips danced across her keypad.
Within moments, he’d taken out a second mortgage on the old family home in Maine, and signed over a vintage PF he’d planned to restore when he retired.
The woman accompanied him to a door far from the front reception desk. “They will bring her through here. I’ve ordered a public ground vehicle for you. Best wishes.”
She held out her hand, took his, and shook it as if they were sealing a bargain on a new PF, not the sale of human flesh.
Link listened to the click of her heels until she crossed into the carpeted area of the hallway. He wondered how the hell people like her slept at night. He’d never struck a woman in anger, but her lies and corporate extortion had brought him closer to decking her than he liked to admit.
What was taking them so long to get Evans out here?
He paced. Images formed in his head of her condition, half roasted in a garden that looked like paradise but was really a hell.
He thought of her unable to walk, comatose, or perhaps already dead. No, he wouldn’t permit himself to consider it.
A set of doors slid open.
Evans stood in the portal. Her skin was fiery red, blistered across her nose and high cheekbones. Her eyes were wide and staring. She walked slowly, planting each bare foot carefully before shifting her weight, as though every inch of her body pained her. He could only assume it did. Her long robe whispered along the floor as she followed a guard past him to a door hidden in a trompe l’oeil painting on a far wall.
The guard said something and it slid open. They walked through a short corridor to another set of doors, double-width this time. These opened into the alley, where a public ground vehicle awaited them. This was where they put out the trash, Link saw as he followed her out. Banks of rubbish containers lined the alley.
He refused to let the intended insult get under his skin. He had her. She was safe now.
Evans moaned as she eased herself into the embrace of the soft seats.
“Med Center,” Link barked, sitting beside her, not daring to touch her. He couldn’t take his eyes off her reddened skin, her dazed eyes. “Hurry!”
A lone tear ran down her blistered cheek.
* * * * *
“She’ll be fine, but there will be some scarring on both shoulders and one patch on her hip. Those areas are too deeply burned to heal without leaving a mark. Sorry.” The physician, not much older than Evans, skimmed his fingers over his wrist pad. “Too bad she was under the influence of drugs. Whatever it was, it made her skin hypersensitive. It cooked her a little faster. And I’m sure she felt it more keenly.”
The young doctor saluted Link and Brad and dashed away.
“What are you planning to do?” Brad asked.
“Find out why she was working off her prison sentence in that place, first. Then when she’s healed, I’m going to… I don’t know.”
And he didn’t. She’d refused to look at him from the moment they entered the hospital. Now, she lay a few feet away, silent, slathered in some vitamin compound goo guaranteed to help the burn heal in half the usual time, with minimal scarring.
Link eased the door closed behind him and went to her bedside. He wanted to hold her hand, but she was greased everywhere. “It’s amazing, isn’t it, that they haven’t really come up with something easier than this since the early ‘30s?”
She ignored him.
He walked around the bed to where she faced. A bouquet of flowers had spilled a few petals on her bedside table. Their scent filled the room and reminded him of the flowers that had surrounded her in the garden.
What a stupid gift. He could be such an asshole.
“Evans.”
“Shut up, Link. Just shut up.”
“I’m sorry I said you were faking. I had no idea—”
“Shut up and go away.”
Evans was a little surprised when Link obeyed her and a bit more surprised when he didn’t return. She was bowled over when the hospital said she could not leave until he collected her.
* * * * *
She sat on an uncomfortable chair in the hospital lobby a week later, feeling healed and a touch greasy when Link strolled in.
He wore his dress uniform and he looked so good her eyes ached. Or maybe she was still experiencing withdrawal from the drugs.
The black tunic of a colonel fit him well. He’d chosen the loose, flowing trousers designed for social events, not military exercises. The small row of colored ribbons on his chest denoted combat and bravery under fire. So, she’d been right about the heat weapon scars on his ribs.
He moved like a cat. A decorated, military cat.
Arrogant bastard.
“Let’s go.” He held out his hand.
She ignored it and walked at his side, her hands tucked into her pockets, knowing what she had to say should not be said in public. The instant they were in his room at the headquarters hotel, she rounded on him. “You bastard. You arrogant son of a bitch.”
Link unfastened his tunic and hung it up. Beneath, he wore a snug fitting shirt that hugged every muscle.
She refused to be seduced although she couldn’t help looking. Lots of men were in great physical condition. Every one of them would look sexy in military garb. So what if he did? One of many, she reminded herself, and most of the others were not such bastards.
“Why am I a bastard?” he asked, sitting in a chair and propping his feet on a low ornamental table.
“You bought me. How dare you!”
“It was the only way I could save you, you ungrateful bitch.”
“Bitch?” For a moment the room tipped.
Then he was there, hands on her shoulders, holding her, bruising her tender skin. She gasped and he loosened his grip.
“I’m sorry. I was angry. I don’t really think you’re a bitch.”
“No,” she said, slipping from his grasp, still dizzy, still under some aftereffect of the drugs. Who knew what the ones they’d given her in the hospital had done to her when they’d mixed with the dregs of the ones from The Palace. “No, you probably didn’t really mean to call me a bitch. Pole princess is more likely.”
“Sit down and listen,” he said.
He brought her something fizzy in a glass and she drank it without really tasting it. Her stomach churned. “I can’t listen, Link. I’m too angry. How dare you buy me!”
“I told you. I had no choice. And what the hell made you embezzle the base funds? Were you nuts or what?”
“I needed a new dress.” She finished off the drink, clunked the glass on the table, and rose. “I’m leaving.”
“Oh no, you’re not. I own you. For seven more years. That’s how long you have on your sentence.”
This was the worst of all possible situations. She sighed and dropped onto the bed, her mind working furiously. Could she confide in Link? That went against every bit of training she’d ever had. Trust no one. Breaking that edict would get her into even more trouble than she was in already. As soon as the thought occurred to her, she rejected it. She’d trust Cadet Link Taylor of their Academy days with more than her life, but she couldn’t be sure Colonel Link Taylor was the same man.
He’d have to leave sometime, to go to the base at least, and then she’d get through to Homeland Security. They’d help her disappear.
Shit. No, they wouldn’t. She’d failed in her mission. They’d probably strip her rank or something. Worse, she’d have broken the heart of a worried father.
And if The Palace realized a HS agent had infiltrated their operation, Angel Martinez might disappear forever.
Evans fumed. How could she have let her temper make her lose sight of her mission? Given a choice between The Palace’s reeducation process and having to face the Department Chief with her failure, the prospect of having strangers paw her wasn’t so bad. She took a deep breath.
“You have to return me, Link.”
“What?” He stared at her.
She stared bac
k. His pewter eyes were almost black. She forced herself to hold a steady gaze with him. “You have to return me. I want back, Link. I loved my job.”
His face flushed. “Too bad.”
“What do you mean, too bad?”
He went to a security pouch and drew out a sheaf of papers. Very impressive papers, watermarked and stamped with official seals. He tossed them to her. She let them flutter to her lap.
“This is your sales contract, Evans. Read clause seven, line eight. Over thirty-five, unimproved. Not returnable. No refund.”
Chapter 12
Double shit, Evans thought. No mission, no chance at redemption. No way out. Well, at least in Link’s custody she’d be better off than in a court-martial.
“Seven years is a long time, Link.”
“Not as long as we spent apart.”
He stood and stretched, and she permitted herself to drink in the way the shirt clung to his body.
“You survived those years, you’ll survive these.”
“What are you going to do with me when you’re back on-station? You can’t very well keep me in your little officer’s cubby, like a pet.” He started, and she looked closely at him. “Are you on leave? On duty? Why are you in New Virginia? I can’t imagine you taking a ground assignment.”
“I’m on an extended leave, to get my finances in order.”
She hardened her expression and injected ice into her tone. “Then you shouldn’t have been wasting them on an expensive brothel. Or strained them buying me.”
He said nothing.
“How did you get a membership card to The Palace, anyway?”
“I found it in a junk shop.”
It was such a Link Taylor kind of answer. And she knew instinctively from her intimacy with him in the past that it was the truth.
She also knew it was all the answer she’d get.
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t trust you not to run off the minute I turn my back.” Link turned away to rummage in a closet. He came out with a duffel, set it on the bed and began to sort through the contents.
