by David Weber
Best to leave the questions unasked. See no evil, hear no evil, etc., etc. If I get the results I want, I'll let the rest of it pass.
"Go ahead," he commanded. "Send it."
Watanapongse nodded and pressed the control. "This will go out on the Masadans' channel. Which—ha!—they think is still secure."
Walter listened carefully, as the recording being sent out was played back in the com room's audio outputs.
It was Abraham Templeton's voice—so, at least, the Solarian officer claimed; Walter himself had never heard the Masadan speak—sounding broken and strained. As if the man saying the words was badly injured and exhausted.
"Hosea. Solomon, whichever's there. [Sharp intake of breath, as if from a stab of pain.] Gideon's . . . dead. Most of us're dead. I'm not long. We've got the bitch. [Long pause, vague sound of gurgling breath. Maybe a sucking chest wound.] It's a stand-off, here. They can't get to us without . . . [Another sharp intake of breath, accompanied by a soft moan.] Killing the slut. Told them I would. They're backing off. [Another pause, shorter. The next words were forced, as if the speaker was running out of energy.] Hold tight. Twelve hours or so. We'll have a deal. Let us go if we keep the bitch alive. [A sudden, low cry, as if Templeton was fighting down agony.] Just hold on. Twelve hours or so. We'll be coming over."
Watanapongse flipped a control, and the voice cut off. "And there it is. That should do it, all by itself. But I'll keep monitoring the channel, and put together something else if it looks like we need it."
The Solarian leaned back in his chair, looking pleased and relaxed. "Piece of cake. All you and I have to do now is just let the—ah, what's the word? The 'wet work specialists,' how's that? Let them do their business. Eighteen hours from now—sooner, probably—it'll all be over except the waiting."
Walter nodded. "That'll be tricky, mind you. Trying to keep something like this secret, for weeks."
Watanapongse was polite enough not to sneer outright. "With the tame press you've got? Piece of cake."
Imbesi scowled. "Not the press I'm worried about. Sooner or later, you know, Anton Zilwicki's going to hear about this and come back. Then—"
"Enlist him in the scheme. Tie him in."
"Well, yes. That's the plan. But what if he doesn't feel like being enlisted?"
Watanapongse said nothing. But Imbesi was pleased to see the smug look vanish from his face.
Chapter 33
Victor woke up quickly and easily, as he always did, alert to his surroundings. Normally, this would be followed within seconds by him rising from the bed and beginning the day's activities.
This morning, however . . . was unlike any other in his life.
For starters, the moment he stirred, the arm around his chest and the leg draped over his thighs began to tighten. Granted, the motion was gentle, the limbs were supple, and the skin was silky smooth. It was still like being held by a python.
The feel of those anaconda muscles brought back to him in a flash everything that had transpired in the course of the night. The very long night. For a brief moment, Victor gave thanks that Thandi Palane enjoyed being sexually submissive. If she hadn't, he'd probably be a corpse. "Dominating" her had been like a mortal "dominating" a goddess—a feat which was only possible because the goddess willed it herself.
And that, of course—given Victor's capacity for self-reproach—was the main thing which held him paralyzed. As episode after episode from the night before flashed through his mind, he began to plunge into an abyss of guilt and remorse. The problem wasn't that he'd acceded to Thandi's wishes. Deeds were simply deeds, after all. Victor had committed acts far worse—by many orders of magnitude—than anything he'd done the night before and, more or less, shrugged them off afterward.
But that was because he hadn't enjoyed them. Whereas . . .
I'm a pervert, he thought bleakly.
He probed his memory, trying to find some particle of distaste; some instant of hesitation; one single point where he'd paused—just for a second!—before wallowing in the sheer pleasure of it all.
Nothing.
Face it, freak. You found the whole thing completely thrilling. Best sex you ever had in your life—ever dreamed of—not that you've had all that much sex to compare it to, but still . . .
Pervert! Admit it, Cachat! You loved every minute of it! Every second!
Gloomily, he started dwelling on this or that remembered moment. Each and every one of which had made him ecstatic. Within seconds, his gloom deepened. He was getting erect again.
And there's the proof of it. You swine.
Thandi was awake herself now. Her lips pressed against the back of his neck, open, her tongue starting to work. The same tongue which figured quite prominently in a number of those remembered flashes. He was completely erect even before her hand found him.
"Dream lover," she murmured. The anaconda body writhed, pulling Victor on top of her. Resistance would have been futile, not that Victor tried. Quite the opposite, in fact—and the gloomiest moment of all came when he saw how avidly he discarded all melancholy and plunged back into rampaging lust.
He did, for an instant, try to tell himself he was just being "very energetically passionate." The instant lasted perhaps a nanosecond.
* * *
The worst of it came when it was over. Thandi was a very verbal lover, and once his passion was spent, Victor was able to look past his moral qualms to face the underlying reality. Even more than the goddess body, it was that mezzo-soprano voice which thrilled him. He remembered something his father had once told him, in one of those occasional periods of lucidity when he wasn't drunk.
Son, you'll know you're in love when a woman's voice settles into your spine. Trust me on this one.
Victor had doubted him, at the time. Which seemed wise, given that his father's inebriate advice and observations were usually suspect. He didn't doubt him any longer.
"What are we going to do?" he whispered into her ear. Then, a last shred of his rigid moral code exerted itself, and he tried to leave her a way out. "If we're not careful, this could . . . you know. Get serious."
Thandi's hands slid under his armpits and she lifted him away from her. Not far, just enough to see his face clearly. The ease with which she did so went a long way toward quieting his remorse. Whatever helpless-female, bodice-ripping fantasies Thandi might have—okay, Victor admitted, he had, too—he was reminded that any man who actually tried to rape the woman would be lucky if she just maimed him.
Something of those thoughts must have shown in his expression. Thandi chuckled, and a smile spread across her face. That smile. The one which, along with her voice, put the goddess body in the shade.
"Don't be silly, Victor. We both enjoyed it—lots and lots—and who cares about the rest? Fine, it's a little kinky. Big deal. I weigh one hundred and fourteen kilos—"
Victor winced. Thandi laughed aloud.
"Good thing I like being on the bottom, huh? And if I say so myself, there isn't a lot of it flab. I once lifted well over twice my body weight—two hundred and fifty kilos—in a clean and jerk. Not to mention that I have black belts in four separate martial arts; I'm an expert with most edged or blunt weapons; and I'm a crack shot with any kind of projectile or energy weapon, as well. So give your tender conscience a rest, will you?"
The smile spread into her pale, hazel eyes. Victor was lost, and he knew it.
"As for the 'serious' business," she continued, "speak for yourself. From my point of view, that advice is maybe, oh, six hours late."
She held the smile, and the warmth in her eyes, allowing Victor to find the exit if he wanted to.
But he didn't—and took comfort in the fact that he never even considered it. A freak and a pervert, he might be, although he was beginning to suspect that Thandi's cheerily amoral view of the matter was probably a lot saner than his own. But he was not a faithless one. Never that.
"I'm crazy about you," he said quietly. "I have no idea what we're going to do about it, but . .
. there it is. Crazy or not. There it is."
Her eyes were watery. "Thank you, Victor," she whispered. "Just for saying it. Yes, it's undoubtedly insane. I don't care. For once in my life, I'm going to do something just because I want to."
She lowered him, and the long kiss which followed was a quiet thing. They'd both purged enough passion and lust over the past hours to allow for that. Just . . . quiet. A promise, not a prize.
* * *
They were eventually interrupted by someone knocking on the bedroom door. The courtesy was pointless, perhaps, since Ginny barged in less than two seconds later.
"Victor, you look better than I've ever seen you," she pronounced. "Thandi, you're a gem. And now, I'm afraid, the two of you have to get moving. The whole thing's coming apart."
Victor was up and already starting to dress. Thandi, likewise.
"What's happening?"
"The station just got a transmission from the Felicia. Your attempt to stall for time didn't work. Templeton's people say they're going to blow it up if we don't transfer the Princess over there within two hours. The transmission was received by every news station on Erewhon, I might add."
Victor pursed his lips. "They moved faster than I expected." He gave Thandi a guilty glance. "I guess we probably shouldn't have—"
"Finish the sentence and you're a dead man," growled Thandi.
"And I'll feed your corpse to the scavengers," Ginny chimed in immediately. "They've got really nasty ones on Erewhon, too, I hear. Some kind of giant worm—more like a centipede—starts by burrowing into your intestines and working its way out."
She shook her head. "Fair warning, Thandi: your new boyfriend's capacity for self-recrimination is just about bottomless."
Thandi smiled, as she began putting on her boots. "I noticed. On the other hand, I believe I can do something about that. Made a good start on it last night, that's for sure." She glanced at Victor, the smile becoming sly. "Look at him, will you? Blushing! The same man who ravished me—again—less than an hour ago. He wasn't blushing then, Ginny, I can tell you that."
Victor was quite sure his face was pink. Beet red, probably. It suddenly dawned on him that Thandi was going to be as bad as Ginny, when it came to teasing.
"There I was, begging for mercy—among other things, I admit—and did he care? Ha!"
No, she was going to be worse.
"Have you had a chance to do any window-shopping here yet, Ginny? I'll bet a place like this has a great leather shop."
"Got to," agreed Ginny. "Soon as we get a chance, we'll find out." Thandi was on her feet, now. Ginny cocked her head and examined the tall woman standing in front of her.
"Chains too, I think. You'd look fantastic in chains. The barbarian princess, at the mercy of her conqueror."
Thandi grinned. "One of my favorite fantasies. In fact—"
Desperately, Victor tried to change the subject. All the more desperately, because of the sudden vivid image which came to his mind. Thandi; nude; chained; helpless. He was having trouble getting into his pants.
"What was the exact wording of the message—"
Thandi drove right over it. "—I'm thinking I'll have to get Victor some kind of whip. Nothing heavy-duty, of course. I'm not really a masochist, I just like to play at it. But I've seen those cute little velvet things. They couldn't do more than sting a bit."
The anaconda body writhed briefly. "Oh—please!" Then, she grinned at Victor. "Something wrong with the pants, sweetheart? Want some help?"
He tried to glare at her. But wound up just laughing.
"I'm ruined," he proclaimed.
"About time," said Ginny. She turned and headed toward the front door to the suite. "You'd better have those pants on in five seconds, Victor, or you'll be ruined in public. I'm letting everybody in."
* * *
She gave him ten seconds. Just enough time for Victor and Thandi to emerge from the bedroom and close the door behind them. Victor's pants were on by then—not that it made much difference. Modern styles for men's casual wear ran on the tight side. He might as well have been wearing a codpiece.
Hastily, as Ginny opened the front door, Victor flopped into a nearby armchair and crossed his legs. Moving less hurriedly, chortling all the while, Thandi eased into an armchair next to him.
* * *
Princess Ruth was the first one through, already talking as she entered the suite.
"Everything's set." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "Even Jiri finally agreed I had to go with you. So don't even bother arguing the point, Thandi. He's your superior officer, after all."
Lieutenant Commander Watanapongse was the next one through, followed closely by Berry. Seeing the frown on Thandi's face, the Solarian intelligence officer shrugged.
"It's not actually an order, Lieutenant Palane. But I've been working with Princess Ruth for the past several hours, and the truth of it is that she's a better hacker than I am. And I probably need to stay behind on the station, anyway, in case anything needs to be coordinated with Captain Rozsak's flotilla."
Thandi shook her head, her frown deepening. "What are you both talking about? You left out a few sentences there."
"Oh." Ruth looked surprised. "Sorry. The assault you'll be leading on the Felicia. You're the only one who's really an expert on deep space skinsuit maneuvers, except maybe Jiri, but we figured we could slave everyone else's controls to yours. I probably wouldn't need it, myself, since I've played vacuum polo since I was eleven." She grinned. "One advantage of being out of the succession—Palace Security doesn't have heart failure whenever you want to do something fun. But if you want to slave my controls, too, I won't argue the point. Besides, your Amazons are so prickly that if they see me being a good little girl, they'll be easier to handle."
Again, Thandi shook her head. "I'm still panting for breath, trying to catch up. You're proposing a mass assault? Me—and you—and my whole unit? I'd just been thinking of a solo operation." A bit stiffly: "I can assure you that I won't need any help against that little pack of carrion-eaters."
Watanapongse smiled. "Probably not, Thandi—if you could find them, once you got into the ship. But that's not going to be simple, and you know it. The interior layout of any five-million-ton commercial vessel, especially for a hybrid passenger-freighter like this one, is too complex—and big—for any boarding party to keep straight without at least a detailed set of plans. But this is a slaver, so it's virtually certain her layout doesn't match the rest of her official classmates anymore. And even if it did, there'll be an elaborate set of internal security measures to penetrate."
He nodded at Victor. "The codes he got are only the general Mesan codes for ship entry. The internal security codes will be specific to each vessel, and there's no way of finding them out without getting on board and hacking into the ship's computer." Now, he nodded toward Ruth. "She can do it, I'm sure she can, and while she's at it, she can pull out a complete schematic of Felicia's blueprints for you, too. The girl—sorry, young woman—is a whiz with security programs. Just to prove it, she cracked the codes of The Wages of Sin inside half an hour. The toughest ones of all, in fact, the ones which govern access to the hidden security scanners in all the rooms and suites in the station."
The Solarian officer's smile grew lopsided. "A bit flamboyant, you ask me. I certainly wouldn't have violated your privacy that way."
Victor and Thandi both froze. Princess Ruth looked exceedingly uncomfortable. "Look, sorry. It was just the suite number I remembered right off. I switched off after—three seconds, at the most."
Berry giggled. "What a liar. More like three minutes."
Victor rubbed his face. "Ruined," he muttered.
"Don't be silly," Berry stated firmly. "First of all, I made sure Ruth erased everything. Second of all, even if I hadn't, the worst thing you'd face is hordes of female admirers. It was . . . Ah. Impressive."
"Hordes of dead female admirers," muttered Thandi. She gave Ruth a look which was not filled w
ith admiration. "You ever do that again, girl, and I will introduce you to a new word: regicide."
Ruth looked suitably abashed. Insofar, at least, as a young woman of her temperament ever could. "Not sure that's right, actually. 'Regicide'—I think—refers to a ruling monarch. But"—she hurried on—"that's okay. I'd just as soon avoid princessicide too. I really didn't mean any harm. I just had to prove to Jiri I wasn't bragging."
Thandi transferred the look-not-filled-with-admiration to the Solarian intelligence specialist. "Superior officer or not, Commander—"
"Have no fear, Lieutenant Palane. My lips are sealed." Watanapongse's smile was now very lopsided. "I've also seen you in a full contact court, remember? And I've never had any problem keeping my priorities straight. Staying alive comes a long way ahead of gossip."
He took two steps and eased into the couch across from Victor and Thandi. "So let's get back to the subject." He tossed his head toward Berry and Ruth. "While the two of you were—ah—indisposed, we fleshed out the plan. Lieutenant Palane, you'll lead the skinsuit assault on the Felicia, with the Princess and your Amazons slaved to your controls until you reach the ship. Once you get in, you'll be in command—and you'll have your special unit along, as well as Princess Ruth to provide you with tech assistance. We figure you should be able to reach the bridge within two hours."
He made a face. "We'll just have to hope that's enough time. But I'm afraid there's no way around the fact that Ms. Zilwicki—still posing as the Princess—will have to transfer over to the Felicia within the hour. I don't think anybody doubts that Templeton's maniacs will make good on their promise."
Victor scowled fiercely. "That was not part of the plan. Like you said, they're maniacs. We can't leave Ms. Zilwicki in their hands for hours before she's rescued. No way."
"It's either that or watch eight thousand people get vaporized," Berry said bluntly. "You do what you want, Victor Cachat. It really doesn't matter, because the decision is mine and I already made it."
Thandi's eyes were wide. "Eight thousand?"
"Yup. As part of their broadcast, Templeton's men showed interior scans of the Felicia. The bastards have that ship packed to the gills with people. All of them genetic slaves from Manpower's breeding station on Jarrod. Tech and heavy labor varieties, mostly. Congo uses up slaves like firewood."
