Martina did as instructed, though it meant keeping a hand on Delta Maura's arm. The unfamiliar gloves still felt strange, muffling. Soft clothing and low voices rustled around her, and Martina became aware that she was part of a procession of people making their way down the corridor. She tried to sneak looks at her surroundings, but the hood allowed only a limited range of vision. All she could see was a circle of floor. The space around her widened enough to echo, then closed in again. The floor alternated between carpet, tile, and metal. Eventually, Delta Maura guided Martina into a kneeling position on a thin floor mat. She knelt, settling her loose clothes around her, and heard more rustlings as Delta Maura and the others apparently did the same. All Martina saw was the yellow fabric of her own trousers. The faint smell of incense hung in the air. Martina listened carefully. The noises around her were subdued, but she got the sense that between forty and fifty people occupied the room. Were they all Alphas paired with a Delta? Martina didn't know, but figured it was a good guess, which meant that there were probably twenty-odd Alphas in the group. All stolen from their owners? Or were any of them here voluntarily? The questions kept piling up.
Martina supposed she should be frightened or frustrated, but she had been sold four times now, and in many ways this was just another change in ownership. Eventually someone would tell her what was going on and she would be given work to do. Delta Maura, despite her strangeness, had so far been unfailingly polite and kind, if uninformative, the food was plentiful, her quarters luxurious. It was proving a pretty good position so far.
After a while, a hush settled over the room and Martina heard footsteps approaching. A voice from somewhere in front of her said, "Welcome, Alphas, and greet the Dream! I am Dreamer Edsard Roon, and I am here to help you find your Enlightenment!"
His voice was rich and powerful. Martina was itching to look up and see what he looked like, but she had been ordered to keep her eyes down.
"You have been rescued from your oppressors, the ones who corrupted and tainted you, the ones who prevent you from achieving true Enlightenment in the Dream. I know you are confused and uncertain, but everything will be explained in time. This is a place of love and trust, and you have nothing to fear here. Irfan has guided you here, and we shall guide you to Enlightenment."
He continued on for quite some time about how special they all were, all Chosen by Irfan Qasad, all above mere humanity. Martina supposed that meant everyone here was human--no aliens. Another scrap of information for the mix.
"We will instruct you in the Laws of Atash," Roon continued. "The first--that the Chosen must remove themselves from impure human society--was fulfilled when we brought you here. The second--that you must dedicate yourselves to purity of thought and deed--you will hear about later today. A demonstration of the third law will occur during this instruction, when you will learn the value of confessing your impurities to the Enlightened. To fulfill the fourth law, you must obey the Enlightened and all those designated as your superiors. They have been there ahead of you and know the way. Trust them. They know what they are doing and will help you join them one day."
He droned on, and Martina found herself only half-listening. She needed to go to the bathroom and she felt hungry, despite the fact that she had just eaten. She wanted something starchy and sweet--cookies or perhaps cake. Her knees began to ache from kneeling on the thin mat, but when she started to shift position and sit down, a firm hand landed on her arm in a clear warning to remain still.
"Only Irfan Qasad escaped the foul taint of Daniel Vik," Roon was saying, "but that taint can be erased, and you will learn to enter the Dream freely, without use of drugs or trances, as Irfan did, and as I have learned to do."
That caught Martina's attention. Her ability to enter the Dream was enough to make her valuable, but she wasn't a high-class power. It usually took her an hour or more of self-induced trancing and a heavy dose of her drug cocktail to enter the Dream, and after the Despair there had been days when she couldn't enter it at all. She had heard that there were techniques the Silent could learn that would allow them to enter the Dream without drugs and with minimal trancing, but she had never met anyone who could do it.
Unfortunately, Roon didn't explain further. "You will come to see that this place is your birthright, that you belong here among those who love you and will take care of your every need. Go with the Dream, Alphas, and good day."
Martina wondered if she should applaud. The room, however, remained silent, and she didn't move. Her knees were in active pain now. Footsteps moved away from the front of the chamber, and after a moment, a collective sigh went through the audience. Martina took that as a sign that she could move, and she shifted into a sitting position. No one stopped her. The relief was heavenly, though her bladder ached.
"You may remove your hood now, Alpha," Delta Maura said beside her. "Dreamer Roon has left the room."
Martina pushed her hood back and blinked at the room. It was a large, rounded chamber set up like a small stadium, with tiered platforms leading down to a raised stage, the place where Roon had presumably been standing. Martina was sitting on the third tier, which put her at a level with the stage. The tiers were filled with, as she had surmised, about three dozen people. Half were dressed in yellow tunics like Martina's--Alphas--and half were dressed in dark green robes like Maura's--Deltas. The robed women wore wimples and the men wore hoods. Everyone wore gloves. Martina didn't see any non-humans, and low voices echoed softly as people talked among themselves.
An Alpha on the tier just above and behind Maura's pushed back his hood and a spasm gripped Martina's heart. The Alpha had dark skin and tightly curled black hair and a face etched with depression and sorrow, but his eyes--his eyes were a bright, startling blue. Martina stared. The Alpha stretched, and the green-robed man next to him murmured something in his ear.
Martina's heart pounded. It couldn't be. Could it? No one but her brother had eyes like that, and even though she hadn't seen them in fifteen years, Martina recognized them with utter certainty. She was about to call out when a hand grabbed her arm.
"Wasn't that wonderful?" Delta Maura said. "He's such an inspiration."
"Delta Maura, who is that?" Martina asked, pointing at the Alpha. He hadn't looked her way. "May I speak to him?"
Delta Maura shook her head. "Earning a name is part of becoming a Gamma, so you would call him 'Alpha.' The name he came here with is meaningless, as is yours. There is not time to speak just now--you're scheduled for confessional purification. We can't have those N-waves interfering with your personal growth, dear."
Martina considered dashing over to him, Delta Maura or no, but a lifetime of conditioned obedience interfered. An order was to be obeyed. Reluctantly, Martina got to her feet. Then she put a fist to her mouth and coughed loudly. Several people, including the Alpha, looked her way. Martina looked straight at him.
The Alpha's blue eyes widened in disbelief. Martina? he mouthed. Martina gave a tiny nod in return as tears filled her own eyes. He was her brother. After fifteen years, a part of her family was being returned to her.
"Do you need some water, dear?" Delta Maura asked at her elbow.
"No, thank you," Martina said, barely keeping her tone even.
"Then it's time to go."
As Delta Maura firmly led Martina out of the audience chamber, Martina silently decided that this place was looking better and better. She was sure once she explained what was going on that she would be allowed to speak with him. Dreamer Roon had said this was a place of love, and that meant they had to let her see her brother. They had to.
Didn't they?
CHAPTER SIX
"You may as well confess--we already know what you did."
--Ormand Clearwater, Bethlehem Colony
A triumphant roar went up from the crowd. Elena Papagos-Faye yelled with the best of them and leaned over the railing to peer down into the shallow gladiator pit, careful not to spill her drink. The person beside her, an auburn-haired ma
n wearing a tight shirt that displayed an impressive build and tailored trousers that showed off some fine assets, pounded a fist on the rail. In the pit below, a six-legged, tank-like creature the size of a small horse finished pulling the arm off its hapless opponent. Black blood splashed over the arena floor and the opponent, a furry, fanged cross between a wolf and a human, howled in pain and fury. It bit and scratched, but claws and teeth got no purchase on the bony armor. The tank pushed the wolf creature toward a section of the floor that sat beneath a heavy metal weight. In the control booth that hovered over the pit, the losing owner shouted frantic instructions at the wolf creature, but blood loss was taking its toll and the creature's movements became jerky and spasmodic. The auburn-haired man shouted encouragement. Elena took another cold sip of her martini. The contest was thrilling, and so was the man.
For the last two days at the Pit, it seemed that no matter where she turned, the man was there--placing bets, shouting at the genegineered battle-creatures, and generally enjoying himself. She also noticed, however, that he didn't actually talk to much of anyone or seem to have any friends--at least, no friends that came to the Pit with him. He was a handsome bastard, too. His clothes and hair were immaculate, styled in the latest fashion. Elena was glad that the current mode favored tight clothes, and her own scarlet dress left little to the imagination. Elena herself was a couple centimeters taller than the man, with long black hair, dark eyes, and a longish nose.
The crowd around the gladiator pit was easily two hundred strong. About half were human. The heavy metallic scent of blood mixed with smells of fried food and spilled alcohol. Bodies pressed around the railing to get a better look at the fight below, but no one seemed to mind the crush. Elena took her eyes off the man long enough to watch the end of the fight. The tank shoved the wolf beneath the weight, triggering a sensor. The weight dropped with a crash, squashing the wolf flat. The crunch sent a thrill through Elena's blood and elicited another roar from the crowd. The man yelled again and leaped back from the railing. His elbow hit Elena's arm, and her martini drenched the front of her outfit in cold gin. She gave a yelp of indignation and brushed frantically at herself.
"Oh hell," the man said over the noisy crowd. "Geez, I'm sorry, ma'am."
Attraction turned to annoyance. "Idiot," she snapped. "Why don't you watch what you're doing?"
In the pit below, the tank skittered triumphant circles around the pit clutching the furry arm of its flattened adversary. The weight rose, revealing pulped remains, and a cleanup crew moved purposefully toward them. The crowd noise subsided into conversation and several people headed back toward the betting area to cash in winnings.
"You should go to the bar and have that taken care of," the man said. "Let me help you. Please?"
Elena's anger abated somewhat at his meek tone. She had, after all, been looking for an excuse to talk to him, and he had literally dropped one on her.
The man solicitously took her elbow. She glared at him to let him know all was not forgiven, but allowed him to lead her through an open archway behind the crowd and into the restaurant-bar. The man got the barkeeper's attention and gestured at the spreading stain on the Elena's dress.
"Cleanup, please?" he said. "And then get this lady anything she wants."
"You got it." The bartender, an enormously tall man with biceps big as footballs, caught up a spray bottle, leaned over the bar, and expertly misted the stain. It lightened, then vanished entirely. Elena's dress was perfectly dry. "What are you drinking, ma'am?"
"Oak and Ash," she said pointedly.
The man gave a small, embarrassed laugh. "Thirty-year-old scotch. I'm that bad, am I? Look, I really am sorry. Can I buy you more than a drink? Something to eat, maybe?" A wide smile spread across his face, one that made him look endearingly boyish. God, he was gorgeous.
"All right," she said in much nicer tone. "Dinner."
Elena caught up her new drink and swept toward an empty booth without looking to see if he was following her. She was already seated by the time he caught up with her and slid into the opposite seat.
"I'm Devin Reap," he said, extending his hand across the table.
"Elena Papagos-Faye." Her handshake was firm, and she pressed his hand a little longer than was necessary. Devin met her eyes with a meek little smile, then looked shyly away. Well. Gorgeous and pliable.
The restaurant kept the lights low. Its tables and booths were of dark, scarred wood. Gritty sawdust mixed with peanut shells underfoot, and a small tin pail of unshelled peanuts sat in the middle of the table. An pair of old-fashioned glass screens displayed the menu where the table met the wall. Another cheer went up from the crowd at the fighting pit beyond the arch, and Elena assumed another contest had begun.
"I really am sorry about the spill, Ms. Papagos-Faye," Devin said.
"It cleaned up just fine, Devin," she said. "Though I think I'm still in the mood for something expensive."
A pained look crossed Devin's his face. "Not too expensive, I hope. I've had a run of bad luck with the gladiators lately."
"Oh? The way you were cheering in there, I thought you must have won."
"Not really. I was yelling at the loser because he let himself get squashed. What would you like for dinner?"
They leaned over the menu screen and Elena purposefully brushed her hand against Devin's. He blushed--actually blushed--and then casually moved his hand away. Elena burned with desire. She would have this Devin and she would definitely have him tonight.
Elena ordered first--prime rib, the second most expensive item on the menu--and Devin tapped in his own order--simple baked chicken.
"Do you bet much on the gladiators?" he asked.
"Not unless I know it's a sure thing," Elena replied. "And how often does that happen?"
Devin smiled. "Not often enough. So what do you do for a living?"
"I'm a department head for a special project within SA." She made circles with her glass on the table and looked at Devin through her eyelashes. "Very hush-hush. You?"
"Accountant, but I'm an independent contractor."
Ben shrugged. "Pay's lower, but yeah--SA doesn't have its claws in me."
"Does anyone else have their claws in you?" she asked with small smile of her own.
Devin looked self-consciously down at his hands. "Not right now. You?"
"I prefer to put my claws into other people."
Their food arrived, and the inevitable small talk began. Elena found numerous reasons to touch Devin's hand or forearm during the meal. Twice her foot "accidentally" brushed his under the table. After the second or third time, Devin stopped pulling back, but the endearing blush that made her want to pull his clothes off him then and there continued to surface.
Around them, patrons of various species came and went. Regular shouts of triumph and groans of despair came from the arena. The table offered a tiny holographic display of the fights, and several times Devin looked longingly at the controls, but Elena deliberately didn't pick up on the hint and he didn't say anything. Good.
Throughout their meal, she let slip a few hints about the Collection. Nothing that would get her into trouble, but enough to impress a little contract accountant whose yearly fee was probably less than what Elena made in ten minutes. She imagined him living in a hole-in-the-wall apartment with three room-mates so he could spend his money on clothes and bet on genegineered gladiators.
"So exactly what's this project about?" Devin asked, leaning forward in fascination. "Sounds like it's big-time stuff."
"Top secret, I'm afraid," she said with a knowing wink. "But it's big. When it finishes, you'll be hearing about it in every corner of the universe. I guarantee it."
He pressed for more details like a puppy looking for attention. She allowed it until she grew tired of evasive answers and cut off further questions with a sharp retort. He immediately fell into a docile silence and Elena changed the subject. Eventually, the meal ended and Devin, once more apologizing about her dress, paid the
check.
"Why don't you come back to my place for a drink?" she said, knowing what the answer would be. Already she could imagine what it would be like to have him lying beneath her, to run her hands over that hard frame, listen to him moan and beg for the release that she would give only when she was ready for him to have it.
"Oh, geez, thanks, but I . . . I can't."
Elena stared. "You can't," she repeated, stupefied.
"I had a great time, though," Devin said, rising quickly from the table and handing her a small datachip. "Here's a com-link code where you can reach me. I hope you'll call. I'd really like to see you again."
And then he was gone.
Elena stared after him in a disbelief laced with a dollop of avarice. No one turned her down. Not the men she chose, not Silent Acquisitions, not even Edsard Roon. Not only would Devin Reap beg to come to her bed, he would become enamored of her, fall in love with her. And then, just to show him who was in charge, she would toss him aside.
Elena Papagos-Faye pulled out her data pad, activated the holographic screen, and started a background check on Devin Reap.
"Come on, you can't keep me here forever," Todd lamented.
"You know, Isaac, the beauty of that statement is not only that it is false, but that you so clearly know it is false," Harenn replied. "I can do anything to you I like. I can hang you upside-down from the ceiling and make a thousand little cuts all over your body that will kill you only after many hours of bleeding. I can give you drugs that will drag every darkness from your head and make each one real for you. I can hire a gang of men to come into this room and beat you and rape you until you wish you had died. All these things I can do, and there is nothing you can do to stop me."
Todd abruptly lunged for Harenn, but the moment he came within a meter of her body, his silvery slave bands snapped and sparked with a blue glow. Todd fell to his knees, moaning in pain. Harenn watched impassively until, gasping, he got to his feet and backed away from her. The Poltergeist had no brig, so Kendi had put him in a set of windowless quarters that Ben and Lucia had gone over. There was nothing in the little room that Todd could use to communicate with anyone outside the ship. He had no computer access, and Lucia had installed extra-stubborn locks on the door. Todd's slave bands were programmed to shock him if he crossed the threshold or approached any member of the crew too closely. His only entertainment was a set of bookdisks. Harenn knew she should leave him alone, that solitary confinement was a terrible punishment in and of itself, but Isaac Todd was like a bad tooth. She couldn't help probing it, even though it caused her pain.
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