by Jaine Fenn
Imbarin smiled broadly. ‘That’s my girl.’
Bez was still deciding whether to be patronised or amused by his comment when 1mbarin’s eyes glazed over. When he focused on her again, she asked, ‘What is it?’ She liked to think he would only be accepting urgent calls right now.
‘Good news. Events are moving ahead of schedule.’
‘What events?’
‘I’ve got a surprise for you, Bez.’
‘I don’t like surprises.’
‘It’s true that you might not like this one, at least not initially.’
‘That’s not what you’re meant to say. Now I’m definitely worried.’
‘You might not want this, but you need it. Trust me.’
‘Void’s sakes, Imbarin, just tell me what you’re on about!’ The frivolous verbal jousting was fun, but he was beginning to worry her.
‘Finish your wine, then we’ll go see.’
‘Go see what?’
‘Finish your wine.’ She complied; it fitted in with the evolving wildness of the evening.
When she lowered her glass, Imbarin’s expression was just regaining focus, presumably after paying the bill. ‘Right,’ he said, standing up, ‘let’s go.’
‘Go where?’
‘To experience the fruits of victory for ourselves!’ He took her hand and pulled her to her feet, then swept her out of the restaurant.
She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched her like that. She grasped his hand hard in return. Should she inter-weave her fingers in his?
She told herself to get a grip, and not on his hand. ‘Where are we going? I need you to tell me.’
‘We’re going to meet a Sidhe.’
THE ECSTASY OF OBEDIENCE
Bez stopped dead, pulling her hand free. ‘No! Absolutely not.
Never. Are you insane?’
‘They’ve been haunting you for too long. You’ve just admitted that something unpleasant happened to make you what you are.
Now you’re finally winning it’s time to face your fear.’
That last comment reminded her of her old shrink, back in her youth when ThreeCs were intent on keeping her stable enough to be of use to them. ‘There’s a reason I’m scared of them, Imbarin.
Those stories about how Sidhe can twist your mind, make you kill, or die? They’re not just stories you know.’
‘I know. Believe me, I know. But this one’s no threat. She’s been sedated ever since she was captured, not to mention being restrained and kept under guard. I’ve waited for this moment for a very long time. I’d like you to share it with me.’
When Bez still didn’t move, he turned to face her, taking both her hands in his. ‘Please,’ he said.
How could being touched be so damn distracting? She had a stupid urge to lean in towards him. Two nights back, she’d had the data nexus dream, and the face that had triggered her orgasm was not Tand’s, but Imbarin’s. Looking back on her recent actions, she saw her foolish desire to go to Xantier unprepared as an unconscious attempt to escape his orbit. And since she had resigned herself to staying here on Tarset with him, she had felt an enervation beyond that resulting from the culmination of her mission. If her body had its way, she might end up having sex with Imbarin Tierce.
‘I’m not comfortable with this,’ she said, aware of the layers in that statement.
‘I know. But you’ll be safe. I promise.’
‘Let me think about it.’ The shock had gone some way to sobering her up, but she knew her judgement was still impaired.
‘I understand your reaction, but she won’t be here long. The prisoner is passing through en route to a Commission hearing.’
‘I had no idea they’d started!’
‘Hers is the first.’
Despite herself, Bez was intrigued. ‘Really? Who is it?’
‘Utenia Mandrew.’
‘Target4I6.’ That made sense: TargeqI6 was local, and had a long charge sheet. ‘That’s great.’ She looked it him hard. ‘And why in the void’s name didn’t you tell me about this earlier?’
‘I only just got confirmation myself. Listen, Bez, she’s only on Tarset for a few hours while she changes ships-‘
‘I still don’t see why we have to see her at all.’ Just knowing she was on the same station as one of the Enemy made Bez’s skin crawl.
‘Because you need this. I need this. And I’m going to eyeball the bitch whether you’re there or not. But if you do bug out now, I think you’ll regret it.’ He leaned closer. ‘Come with me, Bez.
View your vanquished enemy from a safe distance, and know that you - that we - are going to win.’
‘I … all right. If you insist.’
‘I do.’ He leaned forward and planted a quick, confident kiss on her cheek. ‘You won’t regret it.’
The Sidhe was in a custody suite on the docks. There was a reassuring level of security in place although Imbarin’s ID opened every door, and he got Bez through those checks her current persona might fail. She even endured a body-scan, although Imbarin had a brief word with the officer wielding the scanner, and he stopped at neck level.
Finally they were shown into a small, bare room with a one-way glass panel in the wall. On the far side of the glass was another room containing a medical gurney with a figure strapped to it.
A stocky-looking figure in uniform stood off to one side. Bez, unwilling to look directly at the Enemy, focused instead on the guard. She was young, her uniform ill-fitting and her unruly red hair crammed under her cap, but she wore a hard, determined expression.
As Imbarin strode up to the panel, the officer who had accompanied them said, ‘Wait! That guard!’
Imbarin turned to her. ‘What about her?’
‘The Commission sent a Levy-trained guard with a high mental resilience. It was a man, an older man.’
Bez, still looking into the other room, saw the young guard raise her gun. She tensed, thinking she was going to shoot out the glass, but then the tip of the gun jerked upwards. There was a flash, and the lights in the other room went out.
‘Fuck!’ Imbarin sprang back from the window.
‘Sirrah,’ cried their guard. ‘Stay here, please. Everything’s under control.’
Imbarin was already pushing past Bez.
The guard said, ‘You can’t go in there!’
‘I can,’ said Imbarin. Even as she turned to follow, Bez wondered at the slight emphasis on the T. Bez and the guard followed him at a cautious distance. Imbarin pointed at the door to the holding cell. ‘Open this, please.’
‘Sirrah, wait! Reinforcements are on their way.’
‘This door is kept locked, yes?’
‘Yes. As soon as the pair arrived, we locked them in as per the Commission’s orders.’
‘Then either your older Levy-man has magically turned into the young woman who just shot out the lights, or this cell is not secure. Now open the damned door!’
The guard still hesitated.
‘The longer we stand here, the longer that Sidhe agent in there has to help her mistress get free. Open the door and give me your weapon.’
‘Yes, sirrah.’ The guard stepped past them, thumbed the door control and looked into the scanner.
As the door slid open Imbarin turned to Bez, saying emphatically, ‘You should run now.’ Then he took the guard’s proffered gun and rushed into the room.
The traitorous guard stood by the gurney, but she was already turning as Imbarin entered, her own gun raised. Imbarin moved fast and low; the shot zipped past him - and past Bez. Even as fear froze her, she heard their own guard curse.
Imbarin squeezed off a casual shot at the Sidhe’s guard without slowing down. The diminutive woman ducked and ran straight for him, head-butting him in the gut. Something small went flying.
Bez stood transfixed by the unfolding scene. Imbarin moved with the confidence of someone used to combat, but the woman fought with mad passion, and she was strong and fast. The pair rained blows on
each other, neither giving ground.
It would be a good idea to pick up the gun.
What gun? thought Bez, even as her eye fell on the object near the head of the gurney. Ah yes, that gun.
She was two steps into the room before her conscious mind put in an interrupt. This wasn’t right. She looked around, confused.
Then she did something she regretted for the rest of her life: she looked directly at the figure on the gurney. The Sidhe was a dark shape in the half-light, but her eyes glittered. No, they shone, bright as any suns.
Everything fell into place.
Bez experienced an enormous rush of wellbeing. Her life would make sense, and be complete! All she had to do was just-
As she bent down the contact faltered and somewhere in another dimension the real Bez started screaming. Then she was standing up, gun in hand, mesmerised by the twin suns of the Sidhe’s eyes.
She raised the weapon slowly, simultaneously entranced and repulsed at the inevitability of her actions.
She had practised using a gun, learning the basics in case she ever needed them. She had never shot a living being before.
There … A hiss-pop, and the taller of the two shadowy figures fell to the ground.
Deep inside a voice called out, Imbarin! But the cry was drowned by the ecstasy of obedience. She had done what was asked of her and all was well.
The shorter figure disentangled itself and hurried to attend to the Sidhe. Bez also went over, delighted to be allowed closer.
The Sidhe reached out and grasped her hand. A sensual warmth flowed from the contact. Bez exhaled dizzily. She turned, because that was what her mistress wanted, and pointed the gun at the open doorway, ready to shoot anyone who dared show themselves.
The inner voice still howled. She ignored it, because now the Sidhe was stroking the inside of her wrist, and the arousal was moving up into her hind-brain and down into her groin. She had never felt anything so wonderful.
No one came through the door, though she could hear sounds outside; distant shouts, and the whine of an alarm.
After a short while the Sid he moved. Bez stepped to one side, feeling the loss when her hand was released, eager to lend whatever assistance she could. The Sidhe sat up, shaking the last of the broken restraints away. She turned to look over her shoulder at the other servant; for a moment the horror was back and Bez was free to think: The worst possible thing has happened, is happening!
The short woman ducked down out of sight, and the Sidhe’s full attention returned to Bez. All her doubts were blown away.
She felt a brief stab of jealousy, knowing her mistress favoured the other above her, but perhaps now they were alone she could prove her worth. She offered the gun to the Sidhe but the mistress shook her head; she already had a weapon, presumably from the other servant.
The Sidhe carne to stand in front of her and reached back to take Bez’s free hand. Bez smiled to herself.
They walked out of the room together, Bez in front, the Sidhe holding her hand loosely.
A uniformed woman sat on the floor outside, legs outstretched.
She had a hand pressed to her shoulder. Even as she struggled to stand, Bez felt part of her mistress’s attention switch to the guard, who twitched, then crumpled over herself.
They paused before the next corner, and the Sidhe projected a wordless image of the situation up ahead: three people, waiting in ambush. She and her mistress ran around the corner, firing wildly.
Two figures went down. Something stung Bez’s arm. A fraction of a second later, the other figure fell.
They ran on past, now side-by-side. The Sidhe caught her hand again. The pain in her arm disappeared. For a brief moment a stray thought intruded - I held Imbarin’s hand like this! - but it was quickly replaced by elation: I’m with Her now; the two of us against the world!
If only she weren’t so damn tired all of a sudden. She faltered, feet dragging. The Sidhe slowed, then cursed - the first sound she had made - and let go of Bez’s hand. Bez whispered urgently, ‘Don’t leave me!’
She sensed the Sidhe evaluating the situation, and willed her mistress not to discard her so easily. Sounds of pursuit closing in came from nearby. The Sidhe snatched the spare gun from Bez’s hand and turned, not giving her a second glance.
Bez’s legs buckled. She slid down the wall, forlorn tears spilling over her cheeks. To touch such majesty then lose it … The Sidhe was most of the way along the corridor now. Bez glanced down at herself, cradling her rapidly numbing arm. The wound was small: presumably some sort of drugged dart.
Deep inside, the voice of reason was crying for attention, but she wasn’t listening.
She looked up at running feet. A man, not in uniform, was moving speedily up the corridor. He had a vicious-looking gun in his hand.
The mistress hesitated at the end of the corridor; she had her back to the approaching man. Bez realised she could still be of use, and cried out. The Sidhe turned, and Bez felt a flash of triumph.
She waited for the man to fall over, or turn his gun on himself. He didn’t. The Sidhe threw herself to the floor as he paused to raise his weapon.
The man lowered his gun and ran past Bez. The Sidhe scrabbled up into a crouch and disappeared round the corner.
The memory of a man falling in a darkened room pressed in on Bez’s clouded mind.
The stranger put on a burst of speed and hurtled round the corner after the Sidhe.
Bez blinked, strung out in a limbo between two selves: the Bez who had been - controlled, stitched up tight, always alone; and the Bez who now was - who acquiesced, who relaxed into pleasure and service and-
BLAM!
Was that a shot or an explosion? Even as Bez wondered, the Sidhe glamour evaporated. Reality slammed back into true focus.
She screamed.
She kept on screaming, as though that would expel the poison.
As though she could undo the violation she had permitted - not merely permitted but welcomed.
It was a mercy when one of the guards ran up and shot her.
DERN
(Olympus Orbital, Ylonis system)
It was fortunate Dern knew the route from Jerine’s place to his parents’ apartment by heart, because today he was paying very little attention to his surroundings. Before he left this morning, Jerine had suggested he move in with her, and he had accepted.
It would mean big changes in his life, and he had no idea how his parents - especially Mother - would react.
Then there was the news, also this morning, that F era Yasmie had been apprehended trying to board a starliner. She had escaped custody three days ago, then subsequently been tracked down to the commercial docks. She had been seriously wounded during her recapture and was in a critical condition. Dern hoped she wouldn’t pull through. Although the law were true to their word and hadn’t released the source of the original tip-off, he’d still had to complete formal documents in relation to her initial arrest.
Complete anonymity had proved impractical. For the last three days, he’d lived with the nightmare that the renegade Sidhe might turn up on his, or worse, Jerine’s doorstep.
Part of him wanted to tell Jerine about his role in recent events; another part warned against it, because although he was proud of his actions, they belonged to his old life. His future was with Jerine.
If his parents saw a link between his odd question a few weeks back and current events in Ylonis and beyond, they made no comment.
Opening the door of the apartment he heard voices. He assumed Mother was accompanying her afternoon’s drinking with a holodrama until he heard her distinctive laugh. She never laughed at the holo. Surely his father wasn’t home yet? Not that she laughed much with Da these days either.
Dem walked cautiously up the short corridor to the living room.
A man sat in the chair Da normally used, glass in hand, looking comf
ortably at home. As Dem came in, his mother gestured to the visitor, ‘Ah Dem, this is Anand. He works at Starscape.’
Dem stared at the visitor, hoping he was wrong. The visitor stared back.
His mother witte red on, ‘Anand and I only know each other vaguely, but he was passing so he dropped by to tell me how things are—
Anand moved first, hurling his glass away and reaching into his jacket. Dem, used to sizing up opponents - albeit in a different arena - wasn’t taken entirely by surprise.
As his mother’s voice trailed off, Dem assessed what he had to hand. Anand had already drawn his weapon - a knife, not a gun, thank Adonis - but unexpectedly, he didn’t go for Dem. Instead he stepped sideways, towards Ma. He reached her before Dem could react. Dem’s mother shrieked and flailed. Her drunken panic gave Anand momentary pause. She fell, smashing the fragile table next to her seat.
Anand stood over her and addressed Dem. ‘Now I’m going to take away what you love. Then I’ll kill you.’
As Anand bent towards Ma, Dem grabbed the vase from the table beside the door, and hurled it. The vase wasn’t as aerodynamic as a ball, and Anand was partially in cover, but his opponent wasn’t moving and the gravity was constant, which were two advantages over the terce ball court. The vase hit the chair his mother had been occupying moments before, and smashed. Fragments of glass flew up. Anand staggered back, slapping a hand to his face.
Mother began to crawl off, barking out small noises of panic.
Anand looked at her, then wiped blood from his cheek and rushed at Dem.
There were no other vases within reach, nothing else to use as a weapon. Dem, his mother’s cries in his ears, ran forward. After all, he thought absurdly, a good team member can block as well as throw.
When their bodies impacted, both men paused for a fraction of a second, winded. For the first time Dern felt fear; the man’s actions, his eyes, his whole being, had an air of repressed insanity.
As Dern tried for some sort of hold on his opponent, he wondered if every Sidhe thrall went this crazy when they lost their mistress.
Something pricked his leg, but he ignored the pain and, getting a hand free, landed an inept punch on Anand’s neck. Anand grunted but didn’t let go. Instead he hugged tighter. Hot breath and warm spittle hit Dern’s cheek and his ears were filled with his opponent’s laboured breathing. At least Anand had dropped the knife. Without it, they were evenly matched.
