Resort Debauch

by Roxanne Smolen

  Anneliese looked up at the sky. “The sun is rising. I hope we can get back to Enceinte before the day becomes too hot."

  The boy closed his eyes, making mewling noises in his throat. Anneliese wondered what he was thinking. Gathering her robes, she rose to her feet.

  The land was flat and she could see a fair distance, but the city was not in sight. Had she run the wrong way in her panic? She pictured the Resort as she had seen it the evening before, rising just to the left of the sunset. Plotting the course of the morning sun, she started again across the featureless stone.

  Pilar sang and skipped beside her—no hint as to the horror he had witnessed. Perhaps he no longer remembered his sister, nor the plans Lirtsban had for him. Anneliese glanced back the way they'd come. She hoped never to see the man again.

  She turned her attention to her young companion. “Pilar, tell me about the Llaird."

  The boy looked down, lowering his voice as if he were breaking a sacred ban. “The Llaird are demons who live in holes in the rock. They eat children."

  "Have they always been your enemy?” she asked.

  "They are not our enemy, they are our devils, our punishment for who we are."

  Anneliese frowned, trying to make sense of his statement. “And what would you do if you saw one right now?"

  Pilar smiled. “Run!” he said, and took off across the rock, holding his arms out as if he were a ship blasting away.

  Wondering where he got his energy, Anneliese quickened her pace. Pink tufted clouds drifted overhead. The air was silent and still. She thought about Pilar's fear of the Llaird. Much of what the boy believed was obviously folklore—yet, she didn't doubt that the Llaird were dangerous. She remembered Cade's expression when Surah told him that the Llaird had nearly destroyed her lounge.

  Anneliese walked, barely speaking, each step taking her deeper into despair. They should have found the city by now, she thought. She rubbed her neck, sweat rolling down her back.

  Then, raising her goggles against the mid-morning sun, Anneliese spied a tower on the horizon. Elation swelled within her—the Resort Debauch. She laughed aloud.

  "Do you know what I'm going to do when we get to the city?” she said. “First, I'm going to get a cool glass of water—no more rusted dippers. Then I'm going to find my husband. Have you ever been in love, Pilar?"

  Pilar shrugged, swinging his arms. Anneliese increased her pace. She could see the arch clearly—the Walls of Enceinte—and she imagined herself strolling into the city, sitting in the shade beneath an awning.

  But as they neared the gate, Pilar became agitated, tugging her robe and glancing at the sky. Anneliese pulled away, wanting to reprimand him.

  Then the gates began to swing shut.

  "Run!” cried Anneliese.

  Pilar darted ahead. Anneliese moved as if in slow motion, her mind weighted with disbelief. She winced with a stray memory: a group of scavengers rushing through the arch, Cade saying the gates closed automatically.

  With a resounding clank, the gates locked. Anneliese struck her fist against the metal. She closed her eyes.

  Pilar started to cry.

  "Be quiet!” snapped Anneliese, massaging her temples. She couldn't think, couldn't imagine what to do. She needed a cold shower and a hot meal.

  The Rimer's Cope. Anneliese lifted her head. Why hadn't she thought of that before? Cade kept his ship well stocked—food, water, even her old clothes. She'd clean up, and then use the communication booths in Customs to contact her father.

  Anneliese hugged Pilar to stop his whimpering. “Tell me the way to the spaceport. I know you've seen the ships."

  Pilar appeared undecided for a moment, then led her along the wall.

  The port was sprawling, crisscrossed with runways, most of which were not necessary anymore. As they watched, a small craft taxied out of the hangar, powered up then angled into the sky.

  Narrowing her eyes, Anneliese hunkered down, searching the mouth of the building for movement. Perhaps the guards were already asleep with the noon heat. She remembered the Customs officer telling her that the punishment for any infraction was death.

  The thought brought back images of Harmadeur, and she pushed them brusquely away.

  "We need a diversion,” she whispered to Pilar.

  Something moved behind them. Anneliese turned around.

  It was a stegort.

  Anneliese tensed with a rush of adrenaline. The stegort pawed the ground, head down, watching.

  Pilar said, “See how his grief consumes him."

  And, indeed, the animal appeared ill, its gait unsteady, eyes moist and running. This was the mate to the stegort in the marketplace, Anneliese realized. Pining away....

  "Pilar, I have an idea. Do you think you can run in front of the beast?"

  "I doubt there will be much choice in that,” he said.

  Anneliese nodded, eyes upon the animal, one hand reaching to the hem of her garment. Pilar held his arms out—a ship powering up.

  The stegort charged.

  Pilar ran into the open, drawing the animal away from the wall. His head snapped about, glancing behind. Working quickly, Anneliese tore a large square from her robe. She held the fabric outstretched.

  "This way, Pilar, run back and forth!"

  The boy turned, heading straight in her direction. Anneliese froze in increasing terror. She stared as the beast hurtled toward her. Its nostrils flared as it brandished its tusks.

  Pilar streaked past, the stegort on his heels. Anneliese threw the cloth across its face, turned and ran after Pilar. The beast reared back, disoriented. The blindfold fell from its eyes.

  Anneliese latched onto Pilar's shoulder. His mouth gaped.

  "Like this,” she cried, weaving her hand in the air.

  The stegort bellowed, barreling ahead. Anneliese moved toward the fallen cloth, and then realized she had drawn the animal's attention. She backed away, stumbling. Run! she willed herself.

  Suddenly, Pilar darted across the stegort's path. He pulled to a halt, and then ran in the other direction. The animal slowed as if confused.

  Anneliese clenched the fabric in her fists—this time she would throw the cloth cleanly. The beast started toward Pilar, and she waved her arms. It turned mid-stride for her.

  At that moment, Anneliese tossed the cloth over the creature's head. The blindfold held. Anneliese dodged to the side, but the stegort wheeled about, catching her leg with its hoof. With a yelp, Anneliese fell to the ground. A spray of gravel struck her face. Pilar appeared beside her, one hand raised as if to fend off the beast.

  With a final spin, the sightless animal came to rest, chest heaving, and foam flecking its sides. Pilar took Anneliese's arm. He trembled, drenched in perspiration. Anneliese stared at the motionless beast. Sudden bouts of laughter edged up her throat.

  "We did it!” she cried, jostling the boy's shoulders.

  Pilar stared ahead as if in a trance. Anneliese leaned back, giggling, tears streaming down her face.

  Don't lose control, her mind warned.

  She rubbed a growing knot on her thigh—the imprint of a hoof was visible. “Come on, Pilar,” she said, getting to her feet. “Let's see about that diversion."

  Moving in a wide circle, Anneliese studied the stegort. Finally, she moved in close, took hold of a tusk and tugged. The animal stepped forward passively. Pilar grabbed the other side.

  They walked laboriously, the stegort between them, approaching the hangar's wide doors. Anneliese stepped into the cool shadows. Motioning Pilar behind her, she whisked the cloth from the animal's eyes then swatted it on the rump. The stegort reared up, racing inside.

  Sound echoed as if it were a stampede.

  "This way,” Anneliese whispered.

  She took Pilar's hand and, crouching low, moved into the spaceport. The stench of fuel burned her eyes. Sweat ran down her neck. A voice called out and she jumped, heart pounding.

  Locals weren't allowed in port.

  She ci
rcled about a hulking shadow. There were more ships than she'd expected, but she knew exactly where Cade's ship would be. She remembered everything: the spot where the native man had been murdered, the place where the hidden man had watched....

  Pilar whimpered, hanging back. Anneliese pressed her fingers against his lips.

  Almost there. Trust me.

  Voices called from the dark. She heard a single rifle shot. Scarcely breathing, Anneliese slid along a smooth ceramic hull.

  Almost there.

  The stegort screamed, making a trumpeting sound. Footsteps echoed. Laughter. Anneliese turned a corner then straightened in amazement.

  The Rimer's Cope was gone. She spun about, stepping from cover. Perhaps she'd made a wrong turn—but, no, this was the place, this was where they'd stationed the ship.

  Cade had left without her.

  CHAPTER 18

  Mortar leaned back into the communication booth's resilient chair. He stared at the split viewscreen—Grand Inspector Ehrlich on one side, Gordon Rathbone on the other—and he knew that at that moment if he were in a room with either man he would kill him with his bare hands.

  "Then, neither of you believe my daughter could still be alive?” Mortar said evenly.

  "It's not that we don't believe,” Gordon said, “but look at the source."

  "And you.” Mortar turned his attention to the inspector. “I've tried all morning to reach you, to get you to return my calls. Are you telling me now that you won't even investigate this man's story?” He thudded his fist against the console, punctuating his words, voice escalating.

  Ehrlich's image appeared nonplussed. “I apologize for your difficulty in reaching me. Had my secretary realized who you were, I'm sure he would have interrupted the meeting. As for the lift operator you've uncovered, of course we will investigate. It's our job."

  Mortar pursed his lips, mouth tasting like dried weeds. “Thank you."

  Ehrlich's half of the viewscreen blanked and Gordon's face grew to compensate.

  Mortar slammed his hand against the privacy partition between the booths. “How dare you side with him?"

  "Mortar, calm down,” Gordon said. “I'm not siding with anyone. You asked my opinion."

  "I'm your employer!"

  "That's right! So, consider the situation as you would a business proposition. It's a bad risk, Mortar."

  The words echoed in his ears. He jammed his fingers in his hair. “But she's my daughter.” He sagged forward. “No one will listen."

  "On the contrary. I'm beginning to think there was a conspiracy against Anneliese. New data has come back on Cade. It seems he has several aliases. He's not too welcome in some sectors."

  "And this information never came forth before?"

  "I take full responsibility. But I investigated him as a prospective business associate, not a son-in-law. You only wanted him to run a ship of dump down the gauntlet, for God's sake."

  "Free dump. It seems so long ago.” Mortar rubbed his face.

  "Have you talked to him yet?"

  Mortar looked past the Customs desk toward ornate double doors. “I'm outside security now. Harmadeur's haven. I'm not looking forward to seeing the Master again, asking his permission to bail Cade out."

  "Is Bano with you?"

  "My second skin.” He motioned toward the bodyguard, and then turned at a sudden racket outside. “Weapon fire. Probably some local caught in port. Maybe I should check it out."

  "I think you'll do anything to avoid speaking with Cade."

  "All right I'm going,” Mortar said. “But when I call again, I expect you to have a complete rundown on him, every alias, every lie."

  Gordon lowered his eyes. “Yes sir."

  The screen turned blue and Mortar snapped it off. He should have fired that insolent bastard years ago. Wipe that smug look from his face. But no one could advise him as Gordon did, no one else had such insight. Mortar rubbed the bridge of his nose to ease a throb behind his eyes. Maybe Gordon was right. Maybe the lift operator was a risk.

  But how could Anneliese be dead?

  Voices echoed in the hangar. He heard running feet and what sounded like the slaughtering of a pig. Perhaps he should see what was going on—but, no, he knew he was procrastinating. Nothing outside had anything to do with him.

  Leaning back, he stared at the mammoth gilded doors. The prospect of walking into the security office was onerous. Cade was in detention, he wasn't going anywhere, and Harmadeur ... well, that situation could wait.

  "Come on, Bano, I need a drink,” he said.

  Mortar crossed the room, and then slid his docking pass along a gray nondescript door. Infrared lights bathed the passage beyond, a disinfecting process he knew to be perfunctory, and he walked briskly down the hallway, shunning the heat, until he reached the entrance to the Resort.

  The lobby was quiet, the hotel patrons adopting the local custom of napping during the day, and he was able to pass without attracting attention. Striding through a labyrinth of couches, he entered a small gaming room. The lounge was dark and soothing, conditioned to a dry frost. VR cubicles and chance machines cuckooed softly to one another. The bartender looked up at his approach.

  Tapping a credit chip against the bar, Mortar said, “Bring me a mescal and kava."

  Wordlessly, the woman slid a glass his way. Mortar took a gulp, grimacing.

  When had he lost control? he wondered. Anneliese was but a child—how could he have let her run away? And what was her attraction to Cade?

  A smuggler with aliases.

  "Whew, boy! I could almost taste it!” A man exited one of the VR booths. Staggering, he banged a mug against the counter. “Give me another, darling."

  Mortar leaned against a stool, watching the man. He was tall, very young and very drunk, a ruffian out to have a good time, and Mortar wondered if he himself had ever been so free.

  The tender refilled the glass with ale and the man tilted it back, drinking hard, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  "Man, I love that program. Have you tried it?” He looked toward Mortar, his face bright with excitement.

  Mortar hid a smile behind his drink. “Once or twice."

  "When I started down that mountaintop and then the rudder came off the sled.... “He laughed, slamming his mug down and splashing the bar. “I tell you, this has been the best three weeks of my life. There's no better place for a vacation. You can do anything here. Anything at all!"

  "Is that so?"

  The man moved nearer, lowering his voice. “Have you been to the debtor's pens? Now, there's the place to be. I saw this girl there—I swear she was an angel. She had this long silver hair."

  Mortar stiffened. “Silver?"

  "Honest to God. And she was crying, too, like she was some kind of virgin."

  Mortar grabbed him around the throat. “And what did you do with this virgin angel?"

  "Nothing! Just talked. She begged me for help. I thought she was part of the show!"

  "I don't believe you,” Mortar said, bending him backward over the bar.

  The man wheezed for breath. “There were others with me. I can give you their names."

  Mortar shoved the ruffian away, standing over him, chest heaving. His daughter, a prostitute. Alive.

  Alive.

  "Come on,” he said. “I want to speak to these friends of yours."

  CHAPTER 19

  Anneliese stared at the emptiness before her. How could her husband be gone? She stepped into the recessed station, following the perimeter of the bay as if the ship would suddenly reappear. Where would he go? He knew she needed him.

  Wide-eyed, Pilar watched from the edge of the maintenance pit, dancing from foot to foot, fingers in his mouth. Anneliese buried her hands in her hair.

  "There must be a hundred reasons why Cade would have left. A thousand,” she said aloud. “He may have gone for help. Or perhaps he sold the ship to raise credits."

  Perhaps they killed him—the thought formed in her
head. Anneliese winced as if slapped. She had to find out who took the ship from the hangar.

  She scrambled from the docking bay. Pilar took hold of her hand, pulling.

  Anneliese nodded, patting his cheek. “We're not leaving yet."

  She led the boy deeper into the port, slipping between silent ships, aware of the stillness, the shuffling sounds of their feet, following the route she and Cade had taken from the site of the murdered man. She recalled two doors. One led to Customs. She thought the other might lead to an office.

  A sudden roar hammered the spaceport. Anneliese grabbed Pilar, hunkering down, holding her hand over the boy's mouth. The noise died away and, after a moment, a streamlined ship slid into view, towed by the docking ring. Heat radiated from the vessel, its surface crackling and hissing.

  Anneliese crept forward. Beyond the ship, she saw the two doors, saw a man burst out of one of them. The portsmith, she thought. He waved his arms angrily—the ship was coming in too hot. Extracting a hose from the top of a canister, he sprayed the underside of the craft. Anneliese smiled grimly—Cade hated it when they did that.

  The man shook the canister then tossed it to the floor. He pulled a fresh container from a niche in the wall. A hatch opened in the ship and a woman stepped down. She wore thigh-high boots and had her hair twisted into spikes.

  Anneliese fingered her own hair, felt the hacked remains of what had once been her most lovely feature. It will grow, she told herself. Only Cade mattered now.

  The woman held out a triangular chip—galactic traveling papers—and the portsmith backed away, shaking his head to her questions. He gestured toward the ornate door leading to Customs, and then busily inspected the lock-down clamp.

  The spiked woman gazed about the surrounding hangar. For a moment, she looked directly at Anneliese; then she shrugged and climbed shipboard. As the hatch sealed, the portsmith straightened. With a stream of curses, he stormed back into his office.

  Anneliese shook her head. This man would not willingly help her, she thought. Her eyes fell upon the empty canister beneath the craft's sleek belly. She bit her lip.

  A clang rang from the docking ring, preparing to tow the new arrival to its proper bay.