Eland and Jeanne (Tales of the Shareem)

by Allyson James

  Jeanne’s anger rose as she watched them. They were men, with feelings, needs, lives. Why should they be killed?

  “You’ll get free,” she said quietly during one of these sessions. “I’ll make sure of it. I’m going to keep trying to find someone who will take you away from here, get you safe. I swear this.”

  “And me,” Judith said.

  “Sweeties.” Rio put one arm around Judith, one around Jeanne, and gave them each a kiss on their cheeks. “It’s why we love you.”

  Eland said nothing, only watched. Jeanne, flashing an impish smile at Eland, kissed Rio back. The session in Judith’s bedroom with Eland after that was mind-blowing.

  The nights Eland could get to Judith’s, he taught Jeanne more. She was open to him now, interested in what he came up with. She learned to take a small, lubed plug in her ass, which warmed her all over. She’d then kneel in front of Eland, her hands bound behind her back, and take him in her mouth until he came, powerfully.

  One amazing evening, she lay down on top of Eland, he fully inside her, while Rio was invited in to participate. With Rio in her mouth, Eland inside her fully, Jeanne thought she’d burn up and die.

  At other times, Eland had her sit with him and the other Shareem—just sit while they talked. Jeanne would be unclothed and adorned only with her collar and nipple clips. The others could see all she had, all that was Eland’s.

  While the Shareem were obviously always hungry for sex, they didn’t begrudge Eland for having Jeanne, Eland said. If a Shareem had a lady, then the others wished him well. They were made to pleasure women, not to fulfill their own hearts.

  Which, to Jeanne, was terribly sad.

  If nothing else, Eland taught Jeanne to be comfortable in her own body. That was what having her sit naked among the others was about. That and it brought her a tingle of wicked pleasure to be scrutinized. And no one could scrutinize like a Shareem.

  Jeanne learned not to be afraid of sex and not to be ashamed of wanting it. It was pure pleasure, and joining with another, an intimacy that nothing could surpass. She decided that as long as sexual exploring was done in mutual agreement and enjoyment on all sides, there was nothing wrong with it.

  She was even allowed to ask other Shareem for pleasure—if Eland was present. But Jeanne never did. She wanted Eland, and that was all.

  Not that she minded when he let others join them. Aiden massaging her while Eland rode her. Ky and Rio taking turns spanking her while she rode Eland.

  The day he told her to straddle Judith on a chair and let Judith touch her was interesting. Judith enjoyed that, to Jeanne’s surprise, and so did she, a bit. The noise coming from Judith’s room when she retreated there with Rio later was jarringly loud.

  Through it all, Jeanne knew she was falling in love with Eland. She felt complete when he was with her, and empty when he was gone.

  And she feared for him, a gut-wrenching fear that didn’t let her sleep. The danger to him wasn’t false. Jeanne’s nights were restless unless Eland was at her side.

  Soon, she’d have to let him go. Jeanne knew that. And she would. She’d send him where he could live in freedom, and then she’d work like hell to try to see him again. Eland deserved to be at peace, and safe.

  One day Judith and Jeanne saw no Shareem at all. That day segued into another, and another. They both went out looking for them, surreptitiously, just to make sure they were all right—that any of them were all right.

  Nothing.

  The night of the third day without Shareem, patrollers came around, walked inside Judith’s bar just as it was closing, and told the remaining patrons to get out.

  Chapter Twelve

  “This is Bor Narga, not a slave world,” Judith snapped at the lead patroller. “You have a warrant? Otherwise, you can leave—I don’t care what you think I have in here. I won’t even let you in for a drink. It’s just now after hours, and that would be breaking the law.”

  The patroller tried to intimidate Judith with a glare, her fingers on her stun gun, but Judith, who’d raised herself from nothing, didn’t intimidate easily. The patroller snarled that she’d be back, but she went.

  “What do we do?” Jeanne asked after Judith had slammed the metal doors over the bar’s open front.

  “You go home, and let them search your place, but only if they have a warrant.” Judith headed for the stairs. “But first, help me get rid of the stuff.”

  She meant the toys and accoutrements the Shareem had left. It was a crying shame to throw them all into the incinerator, but it had to be done. No trace of Shareem could be found here, and some of the sex toys Judith had obtained were illegal on Bor Narga.

  Jeanne slipped the nipple clamps with chain into her pocket, however. If caught with it, she could claim she’d bought it from an off-worlder, thinking it was jewelry. Maybe the patrollers wouldn’t know what it was for anyway.

  At home, Jeanne received a brief call on her console from Judith to say the patrollers were knocking on her back door, probably with a warrant this time. After Jeanne clicked the console off, she sat on her couch with her knees drawn to her chest. What would happen to Judith if they arrested her? Would they use drugs on her to get her to admit she’d been harboring Shareem?

  And where were the Shareem?

  At three in the morning, Judith called her back. Jeanne slapped the answer button on her console and gazed at Judith’s face, which was drawn in concern.

  “They searched,” Judith said. “Found nothing. Of course they didn’t.” The way Judith’s eyes burned into Jeanne’s, Jeanne knew she feared her console was being bugged. “They did tell me one thing I didn’t know. They’ve caught some of the men called Shareem. Four of them. Rio, Braden, Ky … and Eland.”

  ***

  They were stuck in a cell about twelve by twelve, all four of them in nothing but loincloths, the walls of the cube transparent so the patrollers at the jail could watch them. They’d been given sterilizing showers and then colorless wobbly protein cubes for supper. Plus water, in the requisite amount men of their weight would need.

  “So we’ll be in perfect health when they kill us,” Braden said dryly.

  Eland leaned against one of the walls, folded his arms, and thought about Jeanne.

  He loved her. But he could tell no one, not even to get it off his chest among friends. The last and best thing he could do for Jeanne was to not even mention her name.

  A patroller captain came to interview them. She never let them out of the cell, only turned on the mikes and speakers so she could talk through the soundproof wall.

  “You know a woman called Judith?”

  All the Shareem looked blank, glancing at one another as though to try to place the name.

  “How about Jeanne Narren?”

  Again more blank looks. Eland felt his body temperature rise, and he hoped to all the gods there weren’t monitors for that in here.

  “Any humans known to be assisting you will be arrested,” the captain said. “Helping fugitives is against the law.”

  “Yeah?” Rio said, leaning on his arms against the glass wall. “How would you like us to help you?”

  The captain’s brows furrowed. “By telling me where the other Shareem are?”

  “No,” Rio said. “Help soothe you down and show you what fun is. Braden’s really good at tickling.”

  Braden flickered his tongue at the woman. Ky had his back turned, pretending to not notice the patroller at all.

  The patroller scowled. “None of that.” She snapped off the mike on their side. “I know you can force women to do what you want just by being in the same room with them. Don’t worry, you’ll soon be cured of it.”

  She clicked off the speaker and walked away, her footfalls silent behind the glass.

  Rio gave her the finger. “You know, I love me a patroller with a sense of humor.”

  “Yeah,” Braden said. “Who doesn’t?”

  Ky raised his head from where he’d been studying the floor. �
��Great. My last days of life, and I’m stuck with your lame asses.”

  “And Eland’s,” Braden said, his gaze on Eland. “You all right, big guy?”

  “Sure,” Eland said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Braden lifted his brows, showing he knew damn well the only thing on Eland’s thoughts was Jeanne, but he said nothing.

  “Well, my friends, I think this time we’re screwed.” Rio sank to the floor, back to the wall, and rested his arms on his drawn-up knees. “Well and truly.”

  “Yeah,” Braden said.

  They were all thinking it, but didn’t dare say it out loud ... Unless Rees comes through.

  ***

  Jeanne and Judith tried desperately to find out what had happened to Eland and the others, but though Judith kept an ear out through the many people she knew, she never heard that any of them had been terminated. Judith also hadn’t heard that they’d been released either. The Shareem remained imprisoned, and their fate hung in the air.

  Why they hadn’t been terminated, Jeanne couldn’t imagine. The one Shareem the patrollers had previously caught had been killed quickly enough. Jeanne hadn’t met the man, but her heart ached for him, killed through no fault of his own.

  And it made her angry.

  Angry enough that a few days after Eland had been taken, Jeanne stayed at Judith’s until after she closed, and said, “We’re not going to just sit here. We’re going to save them.”

  Judith gave her a nod. “Agreed. But I’m fresh out of ideas. I haven’t heard from Rees, and I have no clue how to get in touch with him.”

  “We have to do this without Rees,” Jeanne said. “Without Shareem. Just us.”

  “I’m willing.” Judith filled mugs with coffee and handed Jeanne one as she continued cleaning up the bar. “What did you have in mind? We’re not highborn or politicians.”

  “I know. I’m a dockworker, and you sling drinks for a living. But we’re Bor Nargan women. We have way more power than most people on this planet. More than Shareem, anyway.”

  More than Bor Nargan men as well. Bor Nargan women, on the other hand, no matter what their social status, could hold office, make policy, and most importantly, have a voice in decisions made by the ruling council.

  The ruling council might not listen when a dockworker spoke to them, but all Bor Nargan women had the right to stand up before the council and say what they believed in.

  However, to present something before them was tricky. The council had to be made interested, or they shunted the project to subcommittees, who could care less whether the issue ever got resolved.

  Jeanne started working out her attack that night. She contacted journalists, particularly a few from off-world allowed to report here, and told them about the Shareem.

  The journalists already knew a few things—mostly what the ruling council had fed to them. Jeanne filled in the interested reporters what she’d learned about DNAmo, how Shareem had been created, about meeting a few, and what they were like. She eliminated the scorching sex she’d had with Eland, and how he made her feel—she talked about what Shareem were like as men, as people with feelings and the right to stay alive.

  At the end of her discussion, Jeanne told the reporters how some Shareem had already been rounded up and held, and would probably be executed.

  The off-world journalists had at first shown some reluctance to do a story on Shareem, fearing to lose their privilege of working on Bor Narga. But when Jeanne mentioned termination, based only on the fact that Shareem had been engineered from batches of anonymous DNA, the attitudes changed.

  Here was something worth risking a career for. The journalists saw promotions and awards in their futures with a story like this. The shame of Bor Narga, a world that claimed to be adamantly antislavery, their hypocrisy hung out for all to see.

  Did Jeanne know where the Shareem were being held? they asked excitedly. Could she get the journalists in to see them?

  When Jeanne answered in the negative to both, the journalists turned to their own contacts, and their stories started to catch fire.

  Within a few days, the ruling council had indicated that they’d debate the question of Shareem in the open council three days hence. The captured Shareem were revealed to be in a cell block on the north edge of the city. They hadn’t been sequestered in top secret, but access was restricted. Under patroller scrutiny, though, the ruling council let a few journalists in to talk to the Shareem.

  Jeanne saw the first report on the monitors in the break room at work. The vid showed the Shareem in an open, bare interview room with nothing but chairs and a table. Guards stood around them with kill guns in a ready position.

  The Shareem wore dirty linen tunics that covered them to their knees, their faces unshaven. Deliberate choice on the part of the ruling council, Jeanne didn’t doubt, showing them to be scruffy ruffians.

  Every woman in the break room at the dock stopped to watch the report. Shareem were mesmerizing even through a vid console with a crackling feed.

  Jeanne’s gaze was only for Eland. Though he bore a week’s beard growth, he exuded strength and power that came right through the screen. Jeanne wanted to reach out to him, to clasp his hand and feel his touch, to hear his voice as he said her name.

  One of the journalists began speaking, but Jeanne didn’t notice. She was busy rejoicing that Eland was alive, and whole.

  Braden seemed to have been chosen to be their front man. He answered the questions, his relaxed position and easy smiles making the journalists lean toward him without fear. Rio lounged next to him, also talking quietly.

  Ky sat in the background—the most dangerous-looking of the four. Eland was the largest man there, but he kept his big hands folded calmly on the table in front of him.

  Jeanne tried to focus on what the reporter was saying.

  Interviews with our special correspondent reveal that Shareem, while thought to be out of control and animalistic, can converse in fluent Bor Nargan on a number of topics. They form friendships with each other and have preferences for food and drink, have favorite vids and music.

  Those who argue that they are programmed clones will have to admit that, if clones, they have distinct personalities, likes, and dislikes. The question before the ruling council now is—should these men be imprisoned and killed simply because they had multiple parents whose DNA was harvested by a corporation? Or can they be integrated as productive members of society?

  Jeanne noticed that Rio and Braden were keeping their snarky senses of humor under control. Eland and Ky stayed silent, trying to look harmless—not that they were successful.

  Only once did Eland look at the camera. He turned his head and gazed up at it, his startlingly blue eyes the only color on the screen.

  He interrupted Braden’s flowing speech on how much Shareem enjoyed watching off-world sports and even made bets with each other on it.

  “I just want to say to those out there worried about us,” Eland said, “That we’re all right. I’m all right.”

  Jeanne’s strength went out of her. She fell into a chair but kept her eyes on the screen, watching Eland as long as she could.

  When the camera moved from him, Jeanne pressed her hands to her chest and bowed her head, trying to hide her sudden tears.

  ***

  When Jeanne hurried to Judith’s bar that night after work, she found Judith closing down early.

  “We’re going up to the hill,” Judith said, when Jeanne asked why. “We’re attending the debates tomorrow, which start bright and early. Better that we spend the night up there.”

  “You were able to get us in to speak?” Jeanne asked, surprised. The ruling council had indicated, even after all the reports today, that the Shareem question had low priority for them, and they might not allow outside arguments.

  “No,” Judith said. “I got gallery passes. We can at least be there in case there’s a chance for us to state our case.”

  Jeanne agreed, though she fumed. She supposed they
were lucky the ruling council would debate the matter at all. Getting the journalists interested at least had done that.

  The top of the only hill in Pas City held the royal palace and the seat of government. Unlike the Serestine Quarter around it, where the highborn dwelt, the government section provided inexpensive accommodation so the ordinary person and reporters could attend sessions of the council.

  Judith had found them a small room in a boarding house that catered to people from the lower reaches of the metropolis. The two ate a late supper in the cafeteria, which was half full. Jeanne knew she needed food to keep up her energy, but she picked at it.

  “They call this ale?” Judith said, making a face after one sip. “I call it piss.”

  A woman at another table, overhearing, laughed and made a face, agreeing.

  “I should hand out my card,” Judith said in a low voice to Jeanne. “I could drum up a lot of business.”

  “I think that’s against the rules up here,” Jeanne said without much interest.

  “Hey.” Judith slid her hand across the table and rested it on Jeanne’s. “We’re going to get them out. One way or another.”

  Jeanne wasn’t so sure, but she gave Judith a nod. “I can’t stop thinking about that vid. Eland looked right at me. He knows he’s probably going to die—I saw that in his eyes—but he was trying to comfort me. What am I going to do?”

  Judith gave her hand a warm squeeze. “Keep hoping. Keep trying. That’s what you’re going to do. You love him, don’t you?”

  Jeanne gave her a wan smile. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

  “I think it’s wonderful. Bor Nargan women are supposed to be above need and love and all that bullshit. But we can’t be. Love is what keeps us us, you know?”

  Jeanne nodded again, then she wiped her eyes. “I’ll be all right, don’t worry. Just sometimes I need to break down like an idiot.”

  She withdrew from Judith’s clasp and looked at her own hand resting on the table. Jeanne had a worker’s hands—callused, hard, abraded in places.

  When Eland touched her fingers or pressed kisses to her palms, he acted as though Jeanne had the most beautiful hands in the universe.