God, Kira thought. What will they do to him next?
“I can’t take much more of this,” he said, his jaw tightening. “I won’t take much more of this. We’ve got to get out of here.”
***
The next morning, the brothel madam came into Kira’s cell.
“Congratulations,” the older woman said. The madam was wearing one of her many black business suits, and she’d painted her long fingernails a turquoise blue to match her short spiky hair. “You’ve got a date this afternoon. A real big spender, too; you’ll be with him the whole night.”
The madam looked Kira up and down, frowning a little. “He was very specific about how you should look. I think Tina has the sort of dress he wants you in…but we’ve still got to do something about your hair…”
***
Late that afternoon, Kira stepped into the Little Zagreb steakhouse on Level 7. Her nose and eyes still burned from the fumes of the chemicals the beautician had used to turn her straight black hair to wavy auburn. The lilac perfume they’d spritzed her with to hide the chemical odors wasn’t any help to her suffering sinuses. The sequins of the green strapless cocktail dress chafed her skin, and the silver tracking bracelet was uncomfortably tight around her left ankle. The dress was a few years out of fashion, but it was what the brothel had on hand in her size. She hoped the customer wouldn’t mind.
She made her way through the knot of tourists and gamblers crowding the front entrance to the maître’d’s station.
“I’m supposed to meet Captain Zorleski here,” she told the headwaiter.
He glanced at the reservation screen. “Yes, the Captain’s already been seated in the back. Rachel will show you to your table,” he said, waving a hand to summon a nearby waitress.
The waitress led Kira through the restaurant to a table occupied by a broad-chested man in the scarlet and black uniform of the Godunov royal guard.
Kira had seen a fair number of men wearing the old Godunov uniforms around the station, claiming to be veterans of the fabled war in which the bloodthirsty Romanovs wrested control of the Novizvezdan empire from the elderly, honorable Czar Petro Godunov. The vastly outnumbered Godunov guard had battled for their czar and homeland to the last man on the last ship; of 5,000 guardsmen, less than 100 were thought to have survived. The survivors were banished from the Novizvezdan territories. In the 15 years since their defeat, the Godunov guard had come to represent old-fashioned honor, determination, and unflinching courage. Of course, most if not all the men she’d seen wearing the uniform were nothing but blowhard frauds trying to impress women with tales of a war they’d only seen in videos and holos.
The Captain stood up as the women neared the table. And in that moment, Kira knew he was the real thing. He was a tall man, but even if he’d been short Kira suspected he’d still be an imposing figure. He radiated strength and calm authority. A white, netted burn scar extended over the lower half of his left face and disappeared beneath his high collar. She’d heard the Godunovs didn’t believe in having battle scars removed cosmetically. His gray, wiry hair was cropped close to his scalp, and he smelled of white soap, ozone, and testosterone.
Though he smiled at her, his grey eyes remained intense and sad, and she suspected very little escaped his gaze.
He extended his right hand toward her, palm up. Each of his fingers were as wide as two of hers. “I am Nikolai Zorleski. May I have the pleasure of your company for supper?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied, giving him her hand.
He planted a quick, formal kiss on the back of her hand, then moved around the table to pull her chair out for her. She sat. As he pushed her up to the table, she noticed he wore a gold wedding band on his left hand.
“What would you like to drink, miss?” the waitress asked.
“A glass of merlot, please, and an ice water,” Kira replied.
“And you, sir?”
“A glass of sweet sherry to start, and a pint of ale with my meal,” the Captain said. “I already know that I want the porterhouse. But the lady will need time to decide, I expect.”
As the waitress left with their drink orders, the Captain evidently noticed Kira glancing again at his wedding band.
“You have questions, yes?” He raised his left hand and twisted the ring thoughtfully. “Why an honor-bound old soldier like me should be on a pleasure station like this when I have a loving wife waiting for me at home?”
Kira kept her face in a neutral smile, hoping he didn’t really expect an answer. Above all, she dared not do or say anything to offend a customer, particularly a big spender like the Captain. If this man went back to the madam with complaints, she’d get rough trade or worse.
She relaxed a little when the Captain continued.
“The trouble is, my loving wife is not waiting for me at home. My home is gone. My Vanessa was murdered sixteen years ago by those scabby dogs the Romanovs dared call soldiers. I fought my way back to the homeworld to find her, and when I found her corpse…when I found her I knew that they’d done the most horrible things imaginable to her before they finally slit her throat.”
The Captain took a deep breath, unclenching his fists and spreading his hands flat on the white linen tablecloth. “My wife and I had just celebrated our tenth anniversary when the war started, and we had the kind of love the angels in Heaven should have envied us for. A day doesn’t pass that I don’t ache to feel her beside me.”
The waitress returned with their drinks. “Are you ready to order, miss?”
“Um.” Kira glanced at the menu. “The cress and isopod salad, thanks.”
The waitress turned to the Captain. “You wanted the porterhouse, sir? What sides would you like with that?”
“Buttered barley and the mashed turnips, please,” he replied.
He took a sip of his sherry as the waitress left for the kitchen. “The last night before I joined the fleet, I took her to dinner in a restaurant much like this one. Her hair, her dress…she looked much like you do now. Your resemblance to her is…astonishing.”
The Captain drained his glass and stared into the crystal facets. “I can accept that she died; we all die. But that such a sweet and loving woman should die tortured and burned and mutilated at the hands of raping beasts…no. No, no, and no. I was a madman for a long time after that, but I finally realized that no revenge upon the Romanovs could ever make up for what had been done to her. And revenge was not what she would have ever wanted.
“And then I had a dream about Vanessa. She told me, ‘Do for others what you did for me. Give to other women the joy you would have given to me,’” he said.
“Today is her birthday, and to honor her memory, I will do for you whatever you desire in the time we have together,” the Captain finished.
Kira paused, considering his story. “But why me?” she asked. “Why choose a whore?”
He shrugged and smiled. “Who else should I choose on this orbiting Gomorrah? The spoiled daughter of a rich businessman? A bored widow? Who else here is more in need of joy but the slave who must provide it?”
“Why haven’t you gotten married again?” she asked. “It seems like dedicating yourself to a new love would be the best way of honoring your wife’s memory.”
“Were I a different man, remarrying would be a fine thing to do,” he replied slowly. “But I’m a man of the sword, and any wife of mine would live in danger. My heart isn’t strong enough to bear the death of two loves.”
He smiled at her sadly. “If you can’t have a real rose, a paper rose will have to do.”
***
After they finished their meal (Kira happily succumbed to the temptation of a huge slice of chocolate cake for dessert) the Captain led Kira back to his hotel suite.
He undressed her and laid her down on the satin sheets of his bed and began to give her a full-body massage. Though his hands were big, his touch was light and gentle, and when she closed her eyes and ignored her nose, it was easy to imagine that his han
ds were Seth’s hands. It was easy to imagine that she and Seth were free and had money and could make love in their own hotel room. Yes, those were Seth’s fingers caressing her sides and kneading her neck and shoulders, his palms sliding down the smooth length of her back to her thighs.
The more she thought about Seth, the wetter she got. The hands gently rolled her over onto her back. Lips — yes, she could imagine they were Seth’s, though he had no stubble to scritch against her skin — planted soft kisses on her neck, her breasts, down her belly, down her thighs. She felt hot breath on her hairless vulva, and then a soft kiss on her lips. And then a deeper, longer kiss, his tongue sliding into her vagina.
“Amazing. You taste just like raspberry jelly,” the Captain said.
Her fantasy of Seth deflated, and she felt her loins grow cold. “That’s because I’ve got raspberry genes,” she replied, suddenly feeling like an old woman. “The gengineers gave us plant scent-and-flavor genes so we’ll always be yummy for the customers.”
He slipped a finger inside, gently probing, then withdrew. “You’ve got rings in here?”
“Cartilage, like in your trachea,” she replied. “I’m ridged for your pleasure.”
“Isn’t that uncomfortable?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Not really. The rings have some stretch to them. And I don’t have a lot of pain receptors down there. It doesn’t hurt unless the guy tries to put his fist in me. It’s not like a baby’s ever going to go through there. They made me seedless, too, you know.”
“You seem to know a lot about your body,” he said.
“One of my regulars last season was a gengineer. He designed doxies like me, and told me all about it. Seemed to enjoy his handiwork.”
The Captain sighed and sat up. “It’s a shame, you know. Up until I tasted you, I could almost imagine you were Vanessa.”
He gave his head a little shake, as if to physically shake off his sadness, and smiled at her. “Are you enjoying this? Really?”
“Of course.”
“Don’t lie,” he said gently. He touched the bracelet on her ankle. “Are you worried about this? About them listening in? Don’t worry, I told them no bugs, and they knew better than to cross me. My security system would’ve alerted me if you’d come in here with anything but a tracking beacon.
“You can say what you like in here,” he said. “Tell me what you want.”
Kira got up on her knees and faced the old soldier, who was sitting crosslegged on the foot of the bed. He’d stripped down to his gray boxer shorts. The pale burn scar she’d seen on his face and neck extended down across his left shoulder. The thick hair on his chest and belly was more than half gray, but his body was still lean and corded with muscle. His erection had subsided.
“What I want most in this world,” she said, “is to leave this place with my boyfriend, marry him, and live the rest of my life with him as a free woman someplace far, far away from here.”
The Captain was staring at her, his expression unreadable. “Are you asking me to help you escape from this station?”
“I don’t know — are you offering to help me?”
He chewed the inside of his cheek. “You’re aware, I hope, that in this part of the universe, the punishment for stealing or releasing your sort is execution? I’ve already been banished from the Novizvezdan empire; I don’t relish having to avoid the New American Confederacy worlds on top of that.”
“My sort,” she said. “And what am I supposed to be?”
“A thing that looks human, but isn’t. A flesh machine, or so most corporate scientists say. A soulless thing created to be perfectly charming, beautiful, and an effortless liar. A lust-driven, conscienceless hedonist that can’t be trusted to live free in normal human society.”
“Do you really believe all that?” she asked.
“The public believes it.” He bowed his head. “And I…” he trailed off.
“What?” she prompted.
“Did you know that your model is very popular?” he asked. “There’s a Kira in all the best brothels and gentlemen’s clubs in this quadrant. I first saw you — a Kira, rather — five years ago. I was in Nova Monaco, and had to go into a show bar to meet a client. I stepped inside the club, and suddenly I saw my dead wife dancing onstage.”
He shook his head. “I was…stunned. I asked around, learned the girl’s name, and found out that she was a construct, a slave of the club owner. Everywhere I’ve gone since then, I’ve seen Kiras. And all of you look so much like Vanessa. I feel I’m being haunted.”
The Captain paused, looking uncomfortable. “You’re the first Kira I’ve even spoken with. I tried just avoiding you, but the harder I tried, the more I seemed to see you. I thought…maybe if I bought you for an evening, I could get my heart to realize that you’re nothing like Vanessa, that you’re not even a real human. I could finally stop feeling this horrible longing when I see your face.”
“So, your story about the birthday ritual was just a lie?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I’ve told you no lies. I just…didn’t tell you all the truth at first.” He looked ashamed. “The universe is full of freewomen who live chained by sorrow and loneliness. I’d like to think I helped ease the burden on their hearts, if only for an evening.”
“What good is all this supposed to do me?” she asked. “You asked me what I wanted. I need my freedom. I need the chance to have what you had with Vanessa.”
He smiled, staring down at his feet. “When I was a young officer, I and my shipmates smuggled a little cat onboard our warship. He would sit by the airlock and howl to be let out. I’m sure that if he’d been able to talk, he’d have told us that he needed to be outside. He’d have never understood that outside was a cold vacuum that would kill him in an instant.”
Kira tried to bite back the angry frustration building inside her. “Stop patronizing me, please. I’m not an animal.”
“No, but you’ve been sheltered like one. This is not such a bad place; I’ve seen Kiras who live far worse lives than yours. And even they live in luxury compared to many commonfolk. The universe won’t be kind to someone like you.”
“Do me a favor,” she said, her voice low, “and please don’t assume you know anything about my life. I have to break out of my cell at night just to spend a little time with the man I love. I spend every waking moment of every day wanting to be with Seth, and we can’t even spend a single night together.”
She paused to angrily wipe away the single tear that had slipped down her cheek. “Seth got depressed because he couldn’t be with me, and some rich lady he was servicing decided she didn’t get her money’s worth and complained. Do you know what happens to us when we get customer complaints? We get put on rough trade to teach us a lesson. Right now the man I love is very likely being beaten and pissed on, and there’s nothing I can do to help him. Nothing. And if he doesn’t smile and say ‘thank you, may I have some more?’ and gets more complaints, there’s a very good chance he’ll get sold to a snuffer. A rich psycho will lay down his cash, and get to take him apart. Or, if the psychos aren’t buying and the house feels like it’s already made its target 500% profit on Seth, they’ll sell him for garden fertilizer or pet food. That’s what happens to us when we start to get old and sag, after all — off we go to the rendering plant.
“So don’t please compare me to some pet you once owned,” she finished. “I know what an airlock is. I’m living inside one.”
The Captain was staring at her. “You really do love him, don’t you?”
“Yes!” she exclaimed, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “I love Seth. Why should this seem like such a miracle to you?”
“Because true love always is a miracle,” he replied.
Then the Captain was silent for what seemed an eternity.
“I want to see you two together,” he finally said. “I believe that you are in love, yes, but I haven’t seen this boy. If his love for you isn’t real, the two of you can’t
survive out there. If I think that he loves you, too, that it’s not just the natural lust you feel for one of your own kind — then yes. I’ll help you. I’ve made my living fighting for other peoples’ money and land — why not fight for love for a change?”
***
The Captain made arrangements with his ship’s crew, then called the brothel to order Seth. Kira had put her cocktail dress back on and watched him from the bed.
“I don’t care if he’s busy,” the Captain said, pacing in front of the comm terminal. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his burgundy robe. “I’m paying you top dollar, and I want him here on the double.”
The madam frowned from the terminal screen. “He’ll need to get cleaned up first—”
“Am I not speaking clearly?” the Captain asked. “I just said I want him sent here, right now. Now. Clear?”
The madam forced a plastic smile. “Perfectly. We’ll deliver him in ten minutes. You’ll need to pay in full when he arrives.”
The madam’s word was good. Captain Zorleski had barely gotten dressed in gray fatigue pants and a khaki shirt when the doorbell chimed.
“Come in,” the Captain said.
The door slid wide. Outside, Seth stood between two burly brothel guards in plain brown suits. Seth wore simple, loose-fitting green cotton trousers and tunic. His feet were bare, and he was holding a bag of ice wrapped in a bloody bar towel to his nose and freshly-blackened eye. Kira saw new marks on his wrists, possibly from shackles.
“Is this the boy?” the Captain asked Kira.
“Yes,” she replied.
Seth’s eyes flicked from the Captain to Kira and back. He stared at the old soldier as the other men completed the transaction.
Kira saw a dark, horrible anger building behind Seth’s eyes, a hateful rage she’d never thought him capable of.
“Door, close,” the Captain said as the guards left with four bars of platinum. He turned to Seth. “Well, you must—”
Seth flung the bloody icepack in the Captain’s face and savagely swung at the older man’s jaw. The Captain neatly dodged the punch and caught Seth’s wrist. He jerked Seth’s arm up and down in a wide arc, throwing the young man onto his back. The Captain completed the takedown by stepping over his prone body and holding Seth’s twisted arm locked against his knee.
Lucy A. Snyder - Sparks and Shadows Page 7
