Resort Debauch

by Roxanne Smolen

  "I will keep you in safety."

  She spun toward him. “But it isn't safe here. Sayer, the Resort is going to kill you! They will seek out the Llaird and destroy the barrows."

  "They've never found us before."

  "They've never tried before. You serve them. You are part of their attraction.” She moved toward him, eyes locked upon his face. “But if Rakin's army disrupts their profits, they will wipe you from this planet. They will use orbiting heat sensors to track you down and eradicate you without leaving their orgies."

  "No one can do that. No one has that much power."

  "You above all should know. You've seen technology. There is nothing they can't do."

  He leapt up, pacing angrily.

  She grabbed his arm. “Come with me to the Trader City. Leave this war to those who crave it."

  "I will not forsake my barrow."

  "I will not watch you die."

  He turned toward her, his face lost to shadow. He stood so near, she could smell the incense clinging to his robes, hear the pounding of his heart—and she thought he would say something more.

  Brushing past, he left the room. Anneliese lowered her head, and then knelt to pick up the circlet of gold. When she looked up again, Myetrae stood in the doorway.

  "He argued with my mother,” Myetrae said softly, “the night she went to battle."

  "There will be no battle.” Anneliese jutted out her chin. “Someone has to stop this."

  CHAPTER 34

  Mortar Thielman knelt beside the scavenger girl. “It's my fault she's dead. I should have taken her with me."

  Deputy Master Abbas opened the girl's robe, exposing the knife hilt. “This is Harmadeur's knife. The same knife you claim your daughter used to kill the Master."

  "It's a plant,” Mortar said. “Pol used this knife to make us think Anneliese was still in the city."

  "Why would we think otherwise?"

  "Because she isn't in the city.” Mortar gnashed his teeth. “Look, before she died, the girl told me that my daughter was with a scavenger troupe in the fire plains. And Pol admitted he sold Anneliese."

  "Before he died?"

  "Yes!” Mortar got to his feet, pulling at his hair.

  Abbas fingered a scorched mark on the white wall. “You know, the Resort has restrictions on firearms."

  "I wasn't the one with a weapon,” Mortar snapped, and then stopped, seized by new insight. “Where did Pol get a gun?"

  But Abbas was already walking away. Mortar hurried after him, following him down the alley where Bano stood frozen with Pol in his grip. Two guards looked on with undisguised terror, keeping their distance as if the automaton might suddenly come to life.

  Demon, Pol had called him, and indeed the biorg looked like a creature from hell with his face streaked with soot and his chest eaten away. Mortar regretted that he hadn't thought to bring a spare.

  Abbas crouched at the dead man's side, looking at the gun. “The possession of a firearm is a grave offense. Only security guards are allowed such weaponry."

  Mortar paced behind him. “The blaster must belong to Surah."

  Abbas stood. “It won't be registered in her name, of course, but no doubt it can be traced to her. The question now falls to you."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Surah Rudnitsky is not native to this world, yet she does not live here as a patron of the Resort. If you will swear out a complaint, I can have her apprehended. She will spend the rest of her life on a labor quad."

  "If she is convicted."

  "Oh, we have a very high rate of conviction here—ninety-five percent. The other five having hung themselves before reaching trial."

  Mortar scowled. “That doesn't help me find my daughter."

  Abbas walked out of the alley. “I wanted to tell you that the Resort has agreed to reopen your daughter's case. Now I have three knots to untangle—Harmadeur's death, your daughter's disappearance, and the attack of Llaird terrorists...."

  "There were no terrorists. Cade set that explosion."

  "That's doubtful. There are sensors throughout Customs. How could he smuggle explosives inside?"

  Mortar said, “Tetryl wouldn't trigger the alarms."

  Abbas paused, thinking for a moment. He shook his head. “Cade carried no luggage. Apparently, he was most vehement about it, enough so that the hostess included it in her notes. He called down later to have a satchel retrieved from his ship. I'm afraid it is impossible for Cade to have set the blast."

  Mortar blew out his breath, looking down the street. The Resort Debauch towered in the distance. Give him enough tetryl and he would take it all down.

  Quietly, Abbas said, “Do you wish the body of your bodyguard returned to you?"

  "Damn him!” Mortar said. “And damn you. My daughter is lost somewhere outside the city. You will immediately extend your search to the surrounding area. She might be traveling with a companion—a young boy."

  "We've been over this. No one can survive the desert flats."

  "She's out there, Abbas."

  "Mr. Thielman. By your own admission, she would have sought help. I'm sorry, but your daughter must be dead. Or perhaps held for ransom—has anyone contacted you?"

  "No.” Mortar clenched his fists.

  A wicker jinrikisha stopped before them and Abbas climbed aboard.

  Mortar looked up at him. “She's alive. You're wasting time."

  "Perhaps. But it will take more than your gut feeling to convince me of it.” Abbas motioned to his driver, and the jinrikisha pulled away. He called over his shoulder, “Stop by my office and fill out that complaint."

  Mortar turned his back on the receding bicycle. He watched a man load the scavenger girl onto a cart. He treated the body reverently—with more respect than she'd found in life, Mortar thought, remembering the girl's face as she begged him to take her with him. Another promise broken. Mortar grimaced.

  Slowly, he walked toward the spaceport. He thought of his daughter on the flats, alone but for a young boy. Two children.

  Suddenly he remembered the jowl-faced portsmith complaining that two children had broken into his office. Show me the child who could read a computer, the guard had jeered. Mortar nodded.

  Anneliese.

  CHAPTER 35

  Anneliese stared at the darkened ceiling, listening to Ente's slumbering breaths and the beating of her own heart. She moved her foot nearer the edge of the crib.

  Ente stirred.

  Alarm shot through Anneliese. She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing the gasp that threatened to expose her. Shifting her weight, she lowered her feet to the floor.

  If she didn't leave now, she knew she would lose her nerve.

  Her eyes swept the room. Ente had built a nest out of pillows and slept in the corner. Anneliese waited for the woman's slow, even breathing to resume, felt an upsurge of fear at the deepening silence. Perhaps the woman was awake and watching.

  Stop frightening yourself! she chided herself. No one knew her plan. She'd be on her way before either Sayer or his servant realized that she was gone.

  Stepping quietly, she picked up the robe and tucked her sandals into the crook of her arm. The lantern hung from a hook at the side of the doorway, and she grit her teeth as she lifted it, praying for silence. Her eyes strained helplessly against the dim light.

  She moved into the anteroom. Six paces ahead, two to the left to circumvent the malpais statue, three more to the door. Then the courtyard opened before her. She scanned the silent expanse. Only a few urns still glowed, crescent moons braving the darkness. The rest were extinguished.

  Anneliese drew a breath, running sweaty palms over her robe. She'd expected to find guards in the courtyard, expected to flee or fight, and she was vaguely surprised that no one accosted her. Slipping her feet into her sandals, she stepped into the open.

  Shadows outlined the grave figures carved into the walls, and she felt their eyes upon her as she crossed the slumbering platform. Shrugging off a s
ense of trepidation, she concentrated upon the blackness before her. She knew which tunnel led to the surface, knew the way back to Enceinte. Nothing would stop her.

  She was doing the right thing.

  But her heartbeat quickened halfway across the floor, and she entered the tunnel at a trot. Fear-sweat plastered the robe to her back. She twisted the key on the side of the lamp, exposing the stone chips, and a sliver of light escaped the louver. Taking a breath to steady her resolve, Anneliese followed the silent passage.

  She imagined Sayer-Kihn's face as he learned what she had done. Perhaps he would never forgive her, never understand. But someone had to do something, and if warning the Resort of the attack upon the spaceport was the only way to save the barrow, then so be it.

  She would march into the Customs office and turn herself in to the authorities. Of course, they'd be looking for her—she'd killed the Security Master, after all. She wondered about the penalty for murder on a world where all fantasies were real. Anneliese grimaced.

  It didn't matter what happened to her.

  Light danced with shadow along the coarse walls. The tunnel narrowed, branching to the left. Soon she would reach the surface. She would betray her friends to the enemy. Surely, the Llaird would not attack if they saw the Resort was expecting them.

  But in her mind, she saw Sayer-Kihn's face, and the sorrow in his eyes filled her. She remembered how he'd teased her when he caught her snooping in his room, remembered the basket ride to Myetrae's eatery—and she quailed at the thought that she would never see him again.

  She had no business being attracted to him.

  Her footsteps quickened, her sandals slapping the timeworn stone. She held out the lantern as if searching for the truth. In the darkness, she conjured an image of Cade—his crooked smile, eyes sparkling as he ridiculed her. Anneliese remembered how flattered she'd felt at Cade's attention, her excitement at their secret rendezvous. She couldn't imagine that she was the same person—so much had happened.

  She thought of Pilar then—wondered if he would notice she had gone, or would he simply set her from mind as he had his sister. The thought felt oddly reassuring. It was enough that she would remember him.

  Again the passage forked, the floor slanting downward. Abruptly, Anneliese stopped walking. She did not recognize the passageway. Turning up the lantern, she peered into darkness. Damn. She must have taken a wrong turn. Hurriedly, she retraced her steps.

  But at the fork in the tunnel, Anneliese stared again. The floor was cracked and pitted. Lamplight revealed scarred and poorly kept stone, as if the shaft were unused.

  A prickling sensation crawled up the back of her neck. Don't panic, she willed herself. Gathering the front of her robe with one hand, she followed the curving passage.

  The ceiling dipped, the walls closing in. Anneliese slowed her step. In her mind, she saw the route she had taken with Sayer-Kihn—she remembered the floor slanting upward toward the exit.

  Again she turned back, holding the lamp outward, praying for a familiar stretch of rock. Her heart thumped dully against the fear in her chest.

  She would handle this, she told herself. She had a good sense of direction—as a child she'd read star charts for entertainment. But a nagging voice continued behind her thoughts: if she didn't complete her mission, the Llaird would be slaughtered.

  Again she imagined charred bodies, heard the explosions, the screaming. Her eyes grew wide. She ran down the unfamiliar shaft—a branch to the right, another leading downward. In her panic, she swung the lantern, snapping its handle, sending it skittering across the floor. Anneliese slumped against the wall, staring at the spilled stones. Their light dimmed, the stones oxidizing.

  Then a new light appeared. A voice called her name.

  "Sayer,” Anneliese whispered, seeing the chiliarch. Guilt warred with relief. “How did you find me?"

  "The guards kept you in sight."

  "Of course.” She looked away, cheeks flaming. She'd expected the barrow to be guarded—why hadn't she noticed she was being watched?

  He sat beside her. “What are you doing here?"

  Sudden tears blurred her sight. She picked at her robe. “I'm leaving. I'm going back to the Resort."

  He winced, looking up. “Do you hate me?"

  She gasped. “No, I—"

  "How do I reach you, Anneliese? I've run out of stories."

  She paused, watching his many-angled face. “Then let me tell you one,” she said. “Once there was a girl who believed in love. She believed in it so blindly, she thought she saw it in the eyes of a monster. She followed the dream to the brink of insanity, where she was beaten and robbed and used. And all who knew her thought she was dead."

  "But she lived,” Sayer whispered.

  "No,” said Anneliese. “She died. And in her place grew a vile murderess. She wandered the desert, hating herself, hating anyone who looked at her. Until one day she was given a chance at redemption, a way to prove to herself that she was not what she'd become."

  "Still looking for love in the monster's eye."

  "I can't stay here, Sayer. I have to go."

  "In that case,” he said, standing, “it would be faster through the gardens. I'll show you."

  Anneliese felt his fingers close about her hand, felt his tug as he led her through the twisting tunnels. Inside, her thoughts reeled. Was he helping her leave? Would he be so accepting if he knew what she intended to do?

  Gradually, she became aware of the taint of moisture, then of a familiar scent.

  "Flowers?” she asked.

  Smiling, Sayer-Kihn held up the lantern. The walls caught the light and cast it back, as if from a mirror of gold. Ahead, the tunnel held a profusion of flowers, their lacy edges aglow.

  "Midnight lilies,” Anneliese cried. “But, how?"

  "These tunnels lie nearest the enclosed city. Long ago, the Resort used them as a dumping ground. When water came to the barrow, the discarded plant life took root in the compost. You can imagine our surprise.” Reaching down, Sayer-Kihn plucked a weighty blossom from the floor.

  Anneliese cupped it in her hands, breathing the fragrance. “Midnight lilies grow wild in the forests of my home, deep within the shadows of the trees. At the touch of a breeze, their petals fly like silver moths."

  "Here, there is no breeze to disturb the garden, and our flowers do not grow wild."

  "Your people tend them?"

  "They work in shifts, leaving every other cycle to allow the plants to rest. Like us, they thrive in darkness.” He tucked the flower behind her ear, and a petal dropped whisper soft onto her shoulder. “We have learned from their example to grow our own food—refuse for compost, malpais to provide heat and light."

  Anneliese stuttered. “The walls are malpais?"

  "Unpolished, but malpais nonetheless. The surface reflects the smallest lamp."

  Sayer walked slowly, the carpet of foliage muffling his step. He turned his lantern to the barest gleam, yet the walls took up the glow, lighting his way.

  Anneliese watched, dumbfounded. How could these people not know the wealth they possessed? She ran her fingers over the rough malpais. And the Resort had used the tunnel as a garbage dump. She wanted to laugh.

  At the chiliarch's side, she followed the gilt-laced passage. She felt the dampness of the leaves about her ankles, the mossy loam beneath her feet. Flower scent rose in swells. Then she heard distant thunder. She was about to ask what it was when Sayer extinguished his lamp.

  The flowers glowed a moment longer, drawing afterimages from the walls, and in the soft light, Sayer-Kihn turned toward her.

  "I would show you this before you leave,” he said. Taking her hands in his, he drew her into a side passage.

  At once, the sound grew to a deafening crescendo. Darkness closed about her. Anneliese blinked, her step hesitant. Noise pounded in her chest.

  Then the volume dropped and she sensed the walls open as if she were in a vast cave. Moisture touched her face, and she
thought the air smelled like a rain shower. The rock felt slick beneath her feet.

  "Wait here,” Sayer-Kihn told her. “I'll see to the light."

  She heard footsteps moving away, heard a lid dragging across a stone urn. Light exploded within the cavern. Anneliese gasped.

  Before her, a fall of water cascaded into a pool. Motes sparkled overhead. She crossed her hands upon her breast, stepping forward.

  "Oh Sayer,” she whispered. “It's beautiful."

  The cave rose over fifty feet, shelved with gnarled rock. Plants grew in clusters up the walls: swathes of moss, stands of clattering reeds. The light of the urn rebounded across the ceiling, drawing sunset-colored streaks; and the malpais awoke as if it were alive.

  Anneliese hurried to the bank, wanting to laugh and dance. Currents of air stirred her hair—the force of the pounding water. She said, “This pool looks bottomless.” She looked up as the chiliarch joined her.

  Sayer-Kihn touched her cheek. “Will you show me how you race the waterfall?"

  Her heart soared. “Oh, yes!"

  "There is a stairway of sorts leading to the breach. You could dive from the top."

  "Come with me?"

  He chuckled. “I do not swim. The notion never occurred to my people."

  Anneliese kissed him lightly then ran along the edge of the pool. The rock was slippery, the path thick with flowers. Kicking off her sandals, stripping away her robe, she met the base of the stairway wearing only her bloomers and sleeveless vest.

  Rounded outcroppings of stone staggered unevenly up the wall, and she climbed them on hands and knees. Sprays from the waterfall streamed down her face. It tasted like Myetrae's bathwater.

  At last, she reached the top. Water thundered from the broken rock. Pulling herself to tiptoe, bare feet upon a craggy lip, she looked for a moment at the churning pool below.

  Then she pushed away, launching herself from the underground cliff, diving, the air whistling until she felt she could fly. She knifed into the water with barely a splash. When she again broke the surface, she saw Sayer-Kihn, his golden gaze steady upon her. He smiled, and she filled with joy.

  "This feels wonderful,” she called.