by R. A. Nargi
“There’s only like a dozen bottles in the entire galaxy,” Lirala said.
That wasn’t completely true; the whisky wasn’t that rare. But I let Lir show off. Maybe she was warming back up to me, and my “punishment” wouldn’t be too bad. I could only hope.
“Is this stuff ready yet?” Lirala asked, swirling her whisky impatiently.
“I think it probably is,” I said.
“Good. A toast, then!”
“What are we toasting?” Preity asked.
“How about your new hair?” I said.
“No,” Lirala said. “We’re toasting to my fiancé’s education.” She had a dark look in her eyes. “Or re-education.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Preity asked.
“You’ll find out, love. You’re a part of it too.”
A look passed between Preity and me. I guessed that she might be getting a sense of how weird Lirala could be. Thankfully, Lir didn’t notice.
We all clinked glasses.
“Don’t chug,” I said. “This is meant to be savored.”
Truth be told, the Cinderwell/Hinderwell was magnificent. I whispered a silent prayer of thanks to Uncle Wallace.
“Wow,” Preity said.
“Do you taste the molasses and burnt heather?” I asked.
“Burnt heather?” Lirala rolled her eyes. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I don’t taste it either,” Preity said.
“What about oak and pear?” I asked. “My uncle told me that this whisky had been aged in a Spanish oak cask from the 23rd century.”
“No,” Preity said. “Sorry.”
Lirala took another sip. “Well, what I taste is oak and pear. And a little hint of chocolate.”
“I’m impressed.” I smiled at her and Lir smiled back. It was a rare genuine smile from her. I pulled her close to kiss her, and she let me. Progress.
“So when are you guys getting married?” Preity asked.
“That’s an excellent question,” I said. “Lir?”
“When he proves that he is worthy of me,” Lirala said, without missing a beat.
The fact was, Lirala and I had been together for nine years, and had been engaged, on and off, for the last five of those years. It’s almost like a joke. We go through periods where I want to get married and she doesn’t, and periods when she wants to get married and I don’t, and—increasingly—periods when neither of us wants to get married. It’s complicated.
“I’ve been very busy at work,” I told Preity. It wasn’t true, but it was the excuse we gave most often when friends and family asked about our plans together. “And so has Lir.”
“Yes, of course,” Lirala said. “Mummy’s not as sharp as she once was and I find myself being dragged into more and more of the business.”
That was also a lie. Lirala’s mother, Phelina Windsing, was smarter than just about anyone I knew, and certainly more ruthless. She was also an absolute control freak, especially when it came to Windsing Stables.
We continued chatting. And drinking. And soon we were staring at an empty decanter.
“Shall I arrange for some dinner?” I was hoping to get some food in my body to counter the tsunami of drink and drugs that I knew was coming.
“It’s so early!” Lirala complained. “What are we, oldsters?”
“I didn’t have any lunch,” I said.
The other reason I wanted to arrange for dinner was to slip away and get Cece going on a search for Hinderwell. I needed to know if my memory was damaged. If so, that would explain a lot of things.
“Just one more drink, then,” Lirala said, trying to be conciliatory.
“What are you in the mood for?” I asked.
“Hmm.” Lirala closed her eyes in thought.
She had an encyclopedic knowledge of mind-altering substances, including an uncanny ability to choose the exact perfect cocktail for any occasion.
“I’m thinking I might like a Vieux Carré. Yes, I believe that would sit well after the whisky.”
“Excellent choice,” I said. “Be right back.”
Of course I had no idea how to make a Vieux Carré, or even exactly what it was, but that’s what computers are for.
My kitchen bar was as well-stocked as any cocktail lounge, so it was just a matter of accessing the KB for a quick tutorial. But before I did that, I ordered some catering, and then asked Cece to track down the name of the distillery that produced my Reserve ’87. She came back with the answer immediately: Cinderwell. Then she summarized the history of the distillery (which was over 350 years old). Although the distillery had changed names a few times over its long history, it had been known as the Cinderwell Distillery for the last two centuries.
I asked if there was another whisky producer named Hinderwell, and was told that the only reference to the name ‘Hinderwell’ Cece could find was a village by that name in England on Earth. And, no, the village did not make whisky.
This was upsetting. Normally I had a fantastic memory. I was really starting to consider the possibility that my memories of the past eleven days were faulty.
“Jannigan!” Lirala yelled from the lounge. “Where are our drinks?”
“Five minutes away!”
The KB found a video of how to make a Vieux Carré, so I got to work. It turned out that the cocktail was four centuries old and had originated in the southeast United States. It was made with rye whiskey, two types of bitters, vermouth, cognac, and an herbal liqueur. I only had one type of bitter, so I had to improvise a bit.
By the time I brought the tray full of drinks out to the girls, Lirala’s mood had darkened again.
“What took you so long?” She glared at me.
“This is not an easy cocktail to make.”
“Tell me about it,” Preity said, to break the tension.
“Oh, it’s from Earth, of course,” I said. “From a city called New Orleans, which apparently was some kind of big party hotspot before it flooded and turned into a swamp.”
“Sounds fun.”
“Yeah, well, back in the day, it was famous for its bars and restaurants and music. The Vieux Carré was invented at a bar in New Orleans and named after an old neighborhood.”
Preity turned to Lirala. “And why did you choose this for us?”
“What’s your problem? You don’t like it?”
Preity blanched. “No, it’s great. I was just curious.”
Now it was my turn to intervene. “Lir has almost a sixth sense about drinks. And she has a very refined palate. I’ve learned to just go with her instincts.”
“Damn right,” Lirala said, taking a generous gulp of her Vieux Carré.
“So, do you approve, dear?” I asked Lirala.
She took another mouthful and held it in her mouth for a moment. Probably just for effect. Then she gulped it down and said, “It’s passable, Jannigan. But, really, you need to stock your bar a bit more thoroughly.”
“Duly noted.”
We had several more rounds of drinks, interspersed with winkle dust to counteract any depressant qualities of the alcohol. I could tell that Lir was getting close to wanting to move things into the bedroom, and that’s what I was a bit worried about.
Fortunately the catering arrived, and we switched to some expensive wine to go along with the truffle oil roast salmon and mushrooms. And oysters. We had to have oysters. It was kind of like a private joke between Lir and me.
Over a dessert of honeyed figs with lemon mascarpone and candied walnuts—also a favorite of Lirala’s—I remembered something.
The night before our expedition went into the Fountain, I had been feeling a little lonely. I should have called Lirala, but I didn’t. I called Preity instead.
We ended up talking for a long time, telling each other about our lives, joking around, and basically getting to know each other. I remember Preity telling me that she had six older sisters. Preity had said that she was close with all of them except one.
That fact stuc
k in my head, mostly because I was an only child and I have always wondered what it would be like to have siblings.
Looking across the table at Preity, who was laughing and flirting with Lirala, I saw my chance. If I remembered something that there was no way I could have known, it might confirm my gut feeling that my memories were real. So I just went for it.
“Preity, you have six sisters, right?”
“What? How did you know that?” She smiled at me in surprise.
“Have you been creeping her, Jannigan?” Lirala asked.
“No, of course not.” I turned to Preity. “You must have mentioned it when we met at my party last night.”
“I thought you didn’t remember anything.” Lirala’s eyes narrowed.
I was definitely walking through a minefield here, but I had to keep going.
“Just flashes coming back to me,” I said. “I think the figs are good for my memory.” I popped the last one into my mouth.
“Well, I’m glad you are in a remembering mood, because it’s nearly time for you to atone for your sins.”
Uh oh. Lir’s dark mistress persona was making herself known. That meant my punishment was imminent.
She stood up, dabbed her mouth daintily, and excused herself to freshen up. “When I return, the games shall begin.”
Once Lirala was out of earshot, I turned back to Preity. “You get along well with all of your sisters except one, right?”
She put her fork down and stared at me. “How do you know that?”
“The middle one, right?”
“I’m serious, Jannigan. How do you know that?”
“You told me,” I said matter-of-factly.
“I don’t think so. I don’t really talk about my family. Especially to someone who I don’t know.”
I leaned across the table and looked her in the eyes. “Do you remember having a long conversation with me? Like for two hours?”
“What? No.”
“What if I were to tell you that I remember our conversation? You told me all about your family, and your life back on Amravadi, and how the culture there is very different than here, and how you felt like you belonged here more than back home, but that you felt guilty about that.”
As I continued, Preity’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. I told her that I remembered her telling me about the Grand Tour, and how she wasn’t looking forward to going to Rygond and Kulah-to, and she was trying to convince her aunt to let her stay here and work at the stables. I kept going, reeling off all kinds of personal stuff she had told me.
“This is crazy,” she said. “There is no way you could know all that about me.”
“I could if you told me.”
“But I didn’t!”
“Listen, Preity. I think something happened to me—something I’m having a hard time explaining.”
“Maybe you should take it up with your therapist.”
“I’m completely serious. I think that I might have traveled through time.”
She stared at me for a moment, with a look of incomprehension on her face. Then a big grin appeared.
“Lirala told me you had a weird sense of humor.”
At that moment, Lirala sauntered in. She had changed into a black serylene catsuit with braided cut-outs and a harness top that left nothing to the imagination.
“Wow,” I said. I had forgotten how toned Lir’s body was. I knew it was mostly because of metabolic enhancers and an intense muscle stimulation regimen, but she still looked damn good.
“You look hot,” Preity said.
“Of course I do, darling.” She struck a few poses for us. “Shall we retire to the lounge for a nightcap?”
I knew it wasn’t really a question.
“Of course,” I said, motioning the women towards the low, long divan in the lounge.
“I love how this is decorated,” Preity said.
“I can’t take any credit,” I said. “My aunt did everything. She’s really talented.”
“I’ll say. Is that a Darrius XV desk?” She inspected my ornate antique writing desk which was made from some extinct wood that I couldn’t remember the name of. The desk had a curvilinear design adorned with various engraved shapes, and it was very expensive.
“Yes, I believe so.”
I moved to the Meierbinden bar and fetched us bottle of Cuvée Panthère cognac and some snifters.
Lirala’s eyes lit up. “Well, Jannigan, now you’re talking.”
I knew the cognac was one of her favorites, and I was hoping to tip the delicate scales in my favor, so I might escape the evening with minimal damage. At least that was the thought that passed through my alcohol-sodden brain at the time.
“Are you guys up for a game of scarto?” I asked.
“Maybe a quick one, while these take effect.” Lirala produced a jeweled pill case and opened it to reveal two large silvered gel capsules.
Okay, here we go. “And what is the featured drug of this evening?” I asked.
“Take it first, then I’ll tell you. It’s more fun that way.”
Preity grinned. “When in New Torino…” She popped the silver pill into her mouth and washed it down with cognac.
I hesitated, but Lirala slid closer and whispered in my ear. “You do this for me, and we’re good. You don’t, and we’re not.”
I didn’t say anything.
Her lips caressed my ear. “Jannigan, after last night, you owe me. You need to make it right.”
I took her by the shoulders and turned her, so we were eye to eye. “No one gets hurt.” That was my condition.
“Agreed,” she said, placing the pill between my lips. “No one gets hurt.”
I nodded and swallowed the pill.
A big cat-like smile played across Lir’s face as she handed me my cognac. “No one gets hurt,” she repeated. “Permanently…” And then her smile grew even larger.
What the hell did I just get into?
“So…?” Preity moved closer in to the both of us. “What was it that we just took?”
“Imperieux,” Lirala said.
I had never heard of it, and neither had Preity. That wasn’t surprising. Lir was always sourcing new and exotic pharmaceuticals.
“It’s made from the borcho plant, a nightshade that grows on Gilaa,” Lirala said lightly. “Technically, imperieux is a nitro-benzodiazepine hypnotic, similar to flunitrazepam, but much more potent.”
“Enough with the scientific jargon,” I said. “What’s it going to do to us?”
“What do you want to hear first, darlings? The good or the bad?”
“Let’s get the bad out of the way,” Preity said.
“Let’s see. Minor side effects might be blurred vision, dizziness, confusion, disorientation, impaired motor functions.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I was waiting for this mess to take effect.
“I wasn’t finished, Jannigan,” Lirala said. “The fun part, at least for me, is that imperieux affects your cognitive functions, especially the activity of your prefrontal cortex.”
“What?” That was the last thing I wanted to hear.
“For the next six hours you will both do exactly what I want.” She smiled and took both me and Preity by the hand. “My kit’s in the bedroom. This will be fun.”
19
I guess you could call Lirala a psychopath. But what does it say about me as being someone who willingly has a psychopath as my girlfriend?
To be fair, Lir was probably on the spectrum. I once had an off-the-record conversation with a psychologist about Lirala. This was back when the pendulum was swinging more towards the getting married side of things.
I had spent an hour or two describing Lirala, her history, childhood, and our life together—including a no-holds-barred account of our sex life.
The doc said that while it was obviously impossible to diagnose without spending time with her, he had seen personalities similar to Lirala’s—with elevated traits of hypersexuality, narcissism, and imp
aired empathy. He thought that she might have HPD—histrionic personality disorder coupled with either pathologic sexual aggression or paraphilic coercive disorder. Or even sexual sadism.
When I asked how you have an intimate relationship with someone who is that way, he said that generally there’s a continuum of severity with personality disorders. Sometimes it’s possible, through love, acceptance, and other touchy-feely stuff, to ease someone back down the continuum, from severe to moderate, moderate to mild.
Acceptance.
I guessed that was what I was doing now with Lirala.
But it didn’t make me feel better about everything that came next. I only thank Dynark that the drug made me forget most of it.
But not all of it.
There were flashes of terrible pleasure, horrible wild sensations that I was only dimly aware of. Sliding, writhing, soft caresses, then stabs of pain that struck deeper than my body had the capacity to feel. Burning deep tremors of rapture shuddering through me, the sweet poison of unnatural delights.
And I know I was on the giving end as well, powerless to resist carrying out Lirala’s obscene commands, acting as her puppet as she visited all sorts of depravities upon Preity.
I’m not at all religious, but now I know what it feels like to be at the mercy of an all-powerful being, a dark goddess who didn’t think twice about pushing her supplicants to the brink of madness. There was no end in sight.
It seemed like I was caught for days in this paralyzing dream turned nightmare turned dream, shifting endlessly from revulsion to ecstasy and back.
At the end of it I was left weak and sobbing and alone in the dark. Which was exactly what Lirala wanted.
It was her revenge.
20
The next morning, I expected to wake in my own bedroom, with the bright sunlight streaming through my window. I expected to be hurt but alive, and maybe ill from the drugs and drink, sore and bloody, unable to sit or walk. But nothing Mr. Jeris couldn’t fix.
What I didn’t expect was to awaken on the cool metal deck of the Vostok’s bridge, with every alarm in the ship blaring in my ears.
Was this another dream?
I eased myself upright and blinked to try to get my eyes to focus. I tasted blood in my mouth and I had a hard time clearing my head.
