by Ann Aguirre
Shit choice. I’ll take option C.
The blindfold came off, then the gag. Jael spat to clear the sticky, dry feel of leather cleaving to his tongue. Vix regarded him with what looked like genuine concern, and he wondered why he hadn’t noticed how absolutely mad she was before. He had picked up the complete lack of . . . anything in Zediah, but Jael wasn’t used to considering himself vulnerable since he could shake off injuries, plus he was strong and fast. Since halving his abilities with Dred, he was constantly overestimating his own strength.
That has to stop.
“You may have played this game before,” he said, “but Dred will ask questions.”
Zed seemed unmoved by the potential risks. “She’ll receive no answers. This is a dark hole, and people disappear all the time.”
“Don’t you think I’m pretty?” Vix asked.
“Zed will pull my tongue out, no matter what I say.”
The younger man smiled. “You’re smarter than the ones we usually play with. So which is it to be?”
“Neither. You unfasten me, and I’ll let this go as a misunderstanding.”
“But it isn’t one. You came to us in the garden. There’s no other reason you’d have done that if you didn’t want to play. Everyone else steers clear . . . and I saw the way your eyes followed her.”
Jael was fragging hamstrung because any repudiation of Vix controverted Zed’s reality, where she was the sun, the center of everything, and the most desirable woman in the world. But he had to try since straining against the bonds wasn’t working. It’d be nice if Dred was looking for me about now. He had no idea where they were in the cycle, if this was during downtime, or how long he’d been missing.
“You know how you feel about Vix?” he said, instead of a straight answer.
Zed nodded.
“That’s how I feel about the Dread Queen. I realize you think I was panting after Vix. And I would be, if I wasn’t already on someone else’s hook.”
Let that be just crazy enough to make sense.
The two exchanged a look, but Jael couldn’t interpret it. Then Vix said, “There’s only one way to test it.”
She straddled his lap and he pulled his head back, but her face came closer and closer until she was kissing him. The woman tasted of fresh herbs, and her lips were soft, but he wanted nothing more than to shove her off him and beat the shit out of her insane lover. He also sort of felt sorry for her because she was so obviously broken. They were like a pair of antique windup dolls locked in a permanent dance, where they circled and circled and could never leave the track. It was all he could do not to chew her lips off.
Jael had never felt quite like this. He didn’t want her on top of him, didn’t want this kiss. Mad as it sounded, he wanted to scrub every inch of himself. And it would be worse if it went further. With enough handling, she could probably make him respond, and then—his heart leapt at the horror of that thought. There were so many ways this could go wrong. Fear and revulsion warred in him, and Jael prayed for his body not to react. This was mad because desire wasn’t dictated by physiological response. Other things could trigger it; or if a person had strong self-control, they could smother what was there.
Eventually, Vix sat back, looking surprised. Maybe the other men had been so desperate for a woman’s touch that they all showed her what she wanted to see and gave her the excuse to use them, then turn them over to her lover to be murdered.
Beyond crazy.
“He’s telling the truth.”
“You’re the first,” Zed said.
Then the man actually unstrapped him, like he’d passed a bizarre initiation ritual, where the stakes were life and death. “I’m sorry we misjudged you.”
Jael could’ve killed them so easily, snapped their necks as soon as he was free. He rubbed the circulation back into his wrists as he stood up. A long moment passed while he gazed at them, mentally wrestling. In the long run, it might be better if he did. But without them to tend the hydroponics garden, food supply would diminish. So I let them go on killing their fellow Queenslanders when the mood strikes? That didn’t seem right either. In fact, the scenario appeared to have no correct solution, and he wasn’t good with philosophical matters.
“Your head wound has already healed,” Zed said.
The other man’s eyes were dark and calculating, as if he realized that they shared a secret, what used to be called mutually assured destruction. If Jael revealed what had happened, then Zed and Vix would be punished, but likely not before he revealed Jael’s fast healing. There would be problems from the others, who hated aliens and would hate a Bred thing just as much. With a half smile, he touched the spot that had hurt when he woke up but wasn’t bothering him anymore. His hair was sticky with blood.
He pushed out a breath, troubled by the impasse but unable to resolve it. “I see no reason why we can’t part as friends.”
Big fragging lie. But what else can I say? Now I get to go find Dred and pretend nothing’s wrong. If she finds out, they’ll die. That was the brightest spot of this mess; he had no doubt she’d execute these two for this. And then Queensland would suffer.
But maybe I can find a way to tell her about their . . . hobby.
“No permanent harm done,” Vix agreed. “I hope the Dread Queen appreciates your loyalty. You seem like a good man.”
“We hope to see you soon.” Zed smiled as he stepped back, waving farewell.
Jael strode past them and out the door, waiting for the surprise attack that never came. But why would it? Zed thinks he has a hold on me. And the worst part?
He does.
29
Whispers in the Dark
“So where’s the old man?” Martine asked.
Dred lifted a shoulder. “No idea. I left him drinking with Katur and crew.”
“Then you probably won’t see him again tonight.”
Calypso refilled their glasses and dropped down at the table with a weary sigh. “I don’t understand why you two limit yourself to a single man. We’re like goddesses here, and I can pick and choose, a different slave in my bed every night.”
“If they hadn’t sterilized us before we came in, I’d worry about you,” Martine said.
“Why d’ya think the strapping one threw herself in front of the Bug?” Calypso asked.
Dred had been wondering that. “They were close friends, I suppose. Is there anyone you’d die for in here?” she asked Martine.
The smaller woman laughed. “Not hardly.”
Dred had been monitoring the situation in the common room, but with the aliens in seclusion, things seemed to be relatively calm. The watchmen on patrol weren’t idiots, either, at least by Queensland standards. So she pushed to her feet.
“I’ve had enough of the public eye. Come on.”
Calypso raised a brow. “Party at your place?”
“Depends on how much we drink.” Martine grabbed Calypso’s hand and dragged her toward Dred’s quarters.
She realized then how long it had been since she’d spent any time in the company of women. Back on Tehrann, there hadn’t been many girls her own age, and her dreams had been too big for a small colony, where most wanted to grow up, go to work, and help populate the company town. Dred had dreamed of nothing but getting away. And after that, the freighter crews were comprised mostly of scruffy men. Beyond that point, she hunted alone, where everything boiled down to stalking and slaughter. There were no friends or even allies, only people she used to make the kill.
They left the common room and went to Dred’s quarters. It would be interesting to see how long the party lasted before Jael interrupted and what he said when he found three women waiting for him. You could tell a lot about a man by how he reacted to such surprises.
She ushered Martine and Calypso in. “Make yourselves at home.”
“It’s sma
ller than I expected,” Calypso said.
“The lock works on the door, at least.”
Martine flung herself on the bed without waiting for an invitation. Dred let it go because if she wanted actual friends—and she wasn’t positive she did—she couldn’t be all Dread Queen in private moments, too. So she crawled past Martine and sprawled against the wall, leaning her head back with a weary sigh. Calypso settled on a chair nearby, stretching out her long legs.
“I feel like we should be playing a game,” Martine said, grinning.
Dred raised up enough to ask, “A drinking game?”
“Might not be wise, but it could be fun,” Calypso said.
Martine raised her glass. “I’m down.”
“I’m too tired for anything complex. Keep the rules simple.”
“We used to play this game when I was a little girl,” Calypso said, sounding thoughtful. “You tell two lies and a truth about yourself. If we guess the truth, you take a drink. If we don’t, then the others do a shot.”
On the surface, it was a silly childhood game, ridiculous among hardened criminals, but on another level, it was also a gateway to things that normally stayed hidden. It wasn’t like any of them could acknowledge being lonely or being sick of having so many assholes around them night and day. That was the same as admitting weakness, something that would get a woman killed if word got around, and neither Calypso nor Martine were soft.
“Why the hell not?” Dred said.
“I’ll start.” Martine crossed her legs as Dred focused on her face. “I was born to wealth. My favorite color is pink. And I killed my first man when I was fourteen.”
She’s a good liar.
“I say the third thing is true,” Calypso said.
“Is that your official guess?”
Dred just nodded, figuring the other woman knew Martine better.
Martine laughed. “Wrong! There’s nothing wrong with pink. It makes me feel pretty.” Her tone rang with a self-deprecating note. “Not that I’ve seen the shade for a while. You lose, bitches. Bottoms up.”
“My turn.” Calypso frowned, seeming thoughtful. “I’ve loved only one person in my life. I killed her. And I’ve never spent a day in school.”
Dred considered for a few moments. “The last thing.”
Calypso raised her glass and tipped back a mouthful. “Good guess. I wonder, do I not look educated, oh Dread Queen? Beware of judging by appearances.”
“Not going to school doesn’t mean uneducated. You might’ve grown up on a remote colony and did coursework via VI.”
The mistress of the circle quirked her mouth in an expression of approval. “Got it in one. I see why your coup succeeded when so many others failed.”
There wasn’t one. But she wasn’t about to ruin Tam’s hard work by admitting she’d murdered Artan and the spymaster had turned it into a change in regime after the fact. So she forced herself to smile through the dismay. “Before, there were too many conspirators. The fewer people who know a secret, the less risk of betrayal.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Martine said. “Your turn, I think, queenie.”
She didn’t bitch at the other woman for borrowing Jael’s irreverent nickname, not that he used it much anymore. These days he was more likely to softly whisper love. She told herself it was just a word and that she couldn’t let him worm too deep into her head. He’s a bed partner. That’s all. And she was matching his loyalty by paying him in the same coin.
After thinking about what the other women had revealed, she offered, “I killed 224 men before they caught me. I’m an only child. I miss choclaste more than anything else about the outside world.”
“The last thing can’t be true,” Calypso said with a shiver.
“Agreed. No sane person would miss it when there are so many better things.”
Dred shrugged. “I’m not telling you. Make your official guess already.”
“You don’t relate well to people. You’re not a charmer.” Martine’s expression was unexpectedly shrewd. “That tells me you grew up lonely, not much company. So I say the second fact is true. Calypso?”
“No rebuttal.”
In answer, Dred downed her shot. “You two are good at this.”
“When you grow up on the streets, you learn pretty fast to read people. Who’ll feed you, who’ll report you as a vagrant, who’ll try to take you home and chain you up.” Martine rubbed a hand across her face. “Man, this shit is strong.”
The game went on for a while. Eventually Dred and Calypso fetched more booze. It was the middle of down-time, so only the sentries moved in the hallways. Dred was feeling the effects slightly by then, though not as much as the other two. That’s probably because of Jael. And where the hell is he anyway? After the fourth bottle, Martine was bleary-eyed and Calypso was singing. Dred enjoyed the warm buzz as she settled in her quarters again.
“You’re terrible guessers,” Martine mumbled.
“Maybe you’re just an excellent liar,” Calypso said.
“That I am. Always have been.”
“I like that you’re proud of it. A woman should celebrate her strengths.” Dred closed her eyes.
Calypso let out a snore. It was the first time anyone had passed out on the floor since before Einar died. Casting back through muzzy memories, she realized Tam had been avoiding her quarters for quite a while, and that it had become a haven for her and Jael. She weighed her reaction to that, as the closeness had crept up on her. Between the rotgut and the surprise, a queasy feeling roiled in her belly. Attachments were the surest way to get hurt in here. They offered leverage to her enemies.
And there’s a fragging lot of them at the moment.
“I was a free bird during your trial,” Martine said unexpectedly.
“So you know more about me than I do you.” Her trial had been a circus, with coverage all over the bounce.
“I know what the talking heads reported. But that’s probably not true.”
“Are you asking to hear my side?”
“Your call.”
Dred wasn’t drunk enough to tell the whole truth. So she said, “I was hunting killers. The authorities take it badly if you do it without proof.”
“But you got caught up in it. You fancied the rush, or you wouldn’t have done your last victim in front of his little girls.”
“I just didn’t want him to get away.” But their faces haunted her, even now. To them, she was the monster, and it was in that moment that she realized she hovered on the knife-edge of turning into exactly what she hated most. That was when she knew she had to stop and take whatever punishment they doled out.
“Lie to yourself if you want, queenie. Don’t bother with me.” Martine rolled onto her side and lifted her feet until they touched the ceiling above the bunk. She swiped her feet back and forth, as if she were running. The motions were rhythmic, almost hypnotic. “We’re all some shade of devil up in here.”
“You, too?” Dred closed her eyes and collapsed more than lay down beside Martine. If either woman wanted to take Queensland, now was the time. She was too tired to fight. In fact, in this moment, she’d happily step aside so the mistress of the circle could take over.
But Calypso seemed to be out cold. If anyone had asked, she’d have guessed that the tall woman had a better head for liquor than Martine. And I’d have been wrong. The little sharp-tooth was full of surprises. Jael calls her “bright eyes.”
“Me especially. Oh, am I supposed to whisper what I did now?”
“Do you want to?” Dred murmured.
“Evidently so. Pour me another drink, and I’ll tell you a story.”
In reply, Dred emptied out the jar into the other woman’s mug. Martine knocked it back and closed her eyes, as if that would make it easier to speak. “It starts with a man.”
“Usually does,
” Dred said.
Martine smiled wryly. “Unless it’s a woman. And in my case, it was that, too.”
“Sounds fascinating. And complicated.”
“The best things are. I mentioned I grew up rough, yeah?”
“You said something about learning quick on the street.” It was a prompting line, providing a place for Martine to start.
“I was thief early in life. Had to be. If I failed, I didn’t eat. My skills called me to the attention of a powerful underlord, the man who ran Novus.” Martine paused, then added, “That’s a neighborhood in Ankaraj on New Terra.”
“Thanks. I’m not from there.”
Martine aimed a pat at her arm. “I can tell by the accent. Anyway, Darak’s goons dragged me into his office. I expected to be executed.”
“Obviously, that didn’t happen.”
“Instead, he offered me a job. Those were good turns actually. I stole what he told me to, received a fair cut, and had protection.”
“So what happened?”
“I fell in love with an honest man, a lieutenant in the New Terra militia, and I was young enough, crazy enough, to enlist, so I could stay close to him. But I wasn’t cut out for that life. Darak offered me a certain amount of freedom as long as I got the job done. He cared about results more than procedure, so I wasn’t good at following orders, especially when they were stupid.”
“Doesn’t seem like you,” she said, curious how Martine had gone from thief to rebellious soldier to Perdition.
“Things didn’t last between us. He was too gung ho on protecting and serving. I was too ho hum on the propaganda. But I tried to stick out my term because by then, I was head over heels . . . for my commanding officer’s wife.”
“Are you making this up as you go along?”
The other woman grinned. “Sounds that way, huh? But no. Truth is stranger than fiction, or some shit.”
“Was it mutual?” she asked.
“Unfortunately, yes. It didn’t start out personal, though. She came to me because I’d been vocal, complaining about her fascist husband’s policies.”
