Take Two

by Evangeline Anderson

  “You know of another one?” the prostie asked dryly. “Man’s a fuckin’ institution, even more than me and Mike were.”

  “You got that right,” Holt murmured, shaking his head. “So you mind raped the Phoebe colonists to sell to Van Heusen who, I suppose, has set up shop somewhere here on Iapetus. Probably on the dark side since nobody in their right mind would go there…” He mused silently for a moment, leaning back in his chair. “So how’d you end up here?” he asked at last.

  “Fuckin’ Mike,” the prostie snarled morosely, the high, musical voice sounding bitter. “Decided he wanted it all. Waited ‘till I was sleepin’, I guess, and mind raped me just like those damn sheep on Phoebe. When I woke up I looked like this and there was a line of miners out the door of this place waitin’ for their turn. Miners are horny fucks,” she said sourly. “Have ta stay back here with the Goddess-damned daemon to keep ’em off me.”

  The prostie took another drink out of the bottle and slammed it back on the table. “Guess you’ll say I’m getting’ some of my own back,” she said, staring defiantly up into Holt’s stony face. “And maybe I am, but I don’t give a shit. I just know that I’m gonna kill that bastard Red Mike when I find ’im. And believe me, I’ll find ’im.”

  “Well, you don’t appear to be searching too hard at the moment,” Holt pointed out. He was slouched comfortably in his chair, one hand tucked out of sight inside his jacket, seemingly completely unaware of the growing darkness behind him. Because, Sadie saw with a start, it was growing.

  When they had first come down the long hall, the room had been divided straight down the center, equal halves of light and dark like a surreal yin–yang. Now she saw that while she had been engrossed with the prostie’s confession, the darkness had steadily but surely begun to creep, encroaching on the half-circle of brilliance, nibbling away at the light. When Holt had sat down at the table, the daemon was a good three feet behind him. Suddenly, the distance was less than two feet and shrinking rapidly.

  Sadie wanted to scream a warning, wanted to shout his name but it was as though a cold hand was gripping her throat, freezing her vocal chords with black ice. The red eyes flashed malevolently at her from the growing darkness and she knew it was the daemon somehow keeping her from making a sound.

  “Oh, I’ll find ’im,” the blond prostie assured Holt with a sneer. “See, I made a deal. I gotta friend who’s gonna help.”

  “The only help you’re going to get is a one-way ticket to a federal prison, Xavier.” Holt drew his hand from beneath his jacket and Sadie saw that he was holding a pair of silver restraints and his badge. “You’re under arrest. But first you’re going to tell me exactly where Van Heusen’s keeping the illegal tanks.”

  The prostie grinned nastily. “That’s what you think, bub. Knew you had to be some kinda cop. You’re the first guy who’s come back here that didn’t try to grab me.”

  “You’re not my type,” Holt said dryly. The darkness was only inches behind him now, the glowing crimson eyes longing to devour. Sadie tried to move but her entire body was frozen. She realized in horror that she was going to watch Holt die without being able to do anything about it.

  “You’re not mine either.” The prostie laughed, an evil tinkling sound like fairy music played off-key. “But I know somebody who’d like you just fine.” She leaned forward suddenly, moving much more quickly than anyone who’d drunk nearly a fifth of Flare juice should have been able. Planting her delicate, flowerlike hands against Holt’s broad chest she gave a tremendous shove, tilting his chair and pitching him backward into the waiting blackness.

  When the daemon’s attention shifted entirely to the blond detective, Sadie suddenly found she was free. Without hesitating an instant or considering how suicidal her action was, she lunged forward into the room, crossing the line from light to darkness almost instantly, screaming Holt’s name.

  11

  Blakely whistled as he left the private office of Sheila Blex, madam of the biggest mixed-bag brothel on Iapetus and one of his and Holt’s best informants. When they had first met Sweet Sheila, she was simply another working girl on the streets of New Brooklyn, Blakely’s old stomping grounds. She had given them sound information more than once, mainly, Blakely figured, because she had a huge crush on his blond partner. Sheila had told them time and again that her intention was to get to the Outer Rings and make her fortune and damned if she hadn’t done it despite the fact that Blakely and Holt had both tried to warn her off.

  Blakely grinned to himself as he looked around the plush interior of the whore house, taking in the choices available to the well-heeled miners eager to spend their credit for a night of companionship. The room was decorated in shades of crimson and black and there was a wide selection of humans and prosties both male and female lolling on the many plush couches in the waiting area. Luscious, ripe flesh was on display everywhere. Firm, naked breasts topped with pouting nipples, silky thighs, and hot, wet pussies surrounded him. There were also plenty of thick cocks if that was your cup of joe, and from a gilt-edged crate in the corner a forlorn “baa” could be heard. Blakely shook his head; no taste too perverse indeed.

  A pheromone blower at the door ensured that every man who walked in was instantly horny, as Blakely could attest because his own cock had been stiff from the moment he’d come through the door.

  “See anything you like?” The voice purring in his ear made him turn around to see Sheila standing right behind him, her curvy hips cocked in a sexy pose. “You forgot these.” She thrust a bundle at him.

  “Oh, thanks. Guess I was a little distracted.” He glanced around the room again. “Hey, do some guys really go for that?” He nodded at the cage in the corner where the baaing had gotten louder.

  “Millie? She’s one of our local favorites. Makes me more credit than any two prosties put together. You wanna give her a try? It’s a wild and wooly ride.” Sheila’s green eyes danced with laughter and Blakely shivered and shook his head.

  “No thanks, Sheila. I’m not into barnyard porn like some of the sick bastards around here.”

  She elbowed him in the ribs. “I know that, Blake, I’m just yankin’ your chain. But maybe I could set you up with something a little more appealing.” She gestured to the couches full of lounging sex workers.

  “Thanks but no thanks, Sheila. I’ve gotta meet up with Holt. He went to The Slice without me.” Blakely felt a twinge of unease as he spoke of his partner and, unconsciously, he rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Oh yeah, I don’t know how I could have forgotten that you two are a team when it comes to sex.” Sheila grinned at him, teasingly. “You shouldn’t go making fun of poor Millie’s Johns when you and Holt are so kinky you always have to share. Listen, come on back after you pick your gorgeous blond partner up from The Slice. I’ll do you together myself for free.” She ran one blood-red beautifully manicured nail along the bulge in his pants, causing the dark-haired detective to jump guiltily.

  “Don’t think I don’t appreciate the offer, but no can do, hon.” In the past, he and Holt would have certainly taken her up on her invitation. It had been a long, lonely time since they had made love to anyone. His cock throbbed in his pants at the memory of fucking the gorgeous, curvy woman in front of him, of burying his cock to the hilt in her tight pussy while Holt rammed into her from behind and feeling the T-link widen to a river of pleasure, if only for a little while. Sheila was one of the few women able to handle the sensory overload caused by the T-link during their double penetration, although she didn’t have the correct brain chemistry to bond with them. Being a working girl and a friend, she was also one of the few women who wasn’t shocked and offended when she learned of Blakely and Holt’s unusual sexual needs.

  “Ah,” Sheila pouted prettily. “But I like being the filling in a Holt and Blakely sandwich. I can’t believe you came all the way to New Gomorrah and you don’t want to hook up.”

  Blakely could scarcely believe it either. They weren’t o
ften offered the chance for guilt-free, no holds barred sex, but things were different now. He looked around the room at all the flesh on display and then back at Sheila herself, with her wide green eyes and lush body. As hard as he looked, all he could see was a pair of honey-colored eyes and a long mane of hair to match. That sweet face he had picked out of a prostie line-up two weeks ago, the slender curvy form and the hot, addictive feel of her pressed tight between him and Holt. All he could see, all he could think of was Sadie. He knew Holt thought he was being foolish, that the little reporter from Io would never come around, but the dark-haired detective couldn’t help it; he was in love.

  “We just don’t have time, Sheila,” he said, trying to make a plausible excuse. He needed to get back to Holt. “If what you’ve told me is right, we’ve got less than twenty-four hours to get to the dark side.” He hitched the bundle she had given him up under one arm and tried to ignore his throbbing cock. “I’d better get goin’.” He rubbed the back of his neck again.

  “All right then, Blake, be that way. But come on back if you get a chance when you wrap up your business.”

  “Yeah, maybe we wi…” Blakely stopped in midword, frozen in place. Anyone who had been watching the dark-haired detective would have thought he had suddenly received terrible news somehow. His vivid indigo eyes widened and his mouth narrowed to a bloodless slit. “Goddess, no,” he muttered, half to himself

  “Blake, honey, what’s wrong? You look terrible all of a sudden.” Sheila’s voice was filled with genuine concern, but Blakely barely heard her or felt her light grip on his tense bicep.

  “I gotta go.” Abruptly he shrugged off the well-manicured hand.

  “Blake, what…?”

  “Trouble.” He elbowed his way past customers and prosties alike and rushed out of the building, leaving Sheila to stare after him in disbelief.

  “Holt. Oh, Goddess, Holt,” Blakely muttered aloud, not caring that he was attracting attention and ignoring the threatening stares of the rough men around him as he pushed through the crowded sidewalk. Night had come to Iapetus, courtesy of the atmosphere dome, and he felt like he was stuck in a bad dream, struggling though the noisy, stinking darkness to reach his partner in time.

  He had, of course, felt the twinge along the T-link between them when Holt stepped into the daemon’s lair. It was a wrenching feeling, a jangling along his nerves that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, but he could also feel Holt’s calm, like a cool hand on the back of his neck. Holt believed he was in no real danger and they had been partnered long enough for Blakely to trust his judgment. The blond detective knew what he was doing.

  Then, when he was talking to Sheila, the feeling had grown stronger, like an itch in the back of his brain, making him restless to get back to his partner, to be by Holt’s side, backing him up. And there was something else that bothered him, the feeling in his brain was different than any he had felt before. There was a strange…duality about it, a faint echo to the signal that disturbed him. Almost as though he was receiving danger signals from two minds instead of one, but that wasn’t possible. Was it? He still felt Holt’s certainty that everything was fine, but it was less calming than it had been.

  At last, when he was saying goodbye to Sheila and turning down her offer of a friendly fuck, he had felt the sharp, almost physical pain, like a stabbing at the base of his skull, where the Tandem chip that created the T-link between him and Holt was housed. It was Trouble with a capital T and Blakely knew it. He had never felt such an intense warning through the link he shared with Holt and it meant that his blond partner was not only in a dangerous situation, but that his life was in jeopardy. Again, the sensation was doubled somehow, making it that much more urgent. Blakely didn’t know what was going on, but he didn’t have time to stop and think about it.

  “Hang on, Holt,” he muttered to himself, quickening his pace as The Slice came into view. “Just hang on, partner. I’m on my way.”

  He burst in the door and headed directly to the back room, knowing by the chip’s spatial resolution feature exactly where his partner was located.

  “Blakely!” he heard Snuggly bellowing at him, but paid no attention. Holt was in the back room and he was in trouble—that was all that mattered. Running down the dim, threatening hallway with the chip’s warning stabbing at his brain, Blakely had to force himself to stop for a moment and drop the bundle he had been clutching and grab his blaster. It wouldn’t do to go charging in before he knew what was going on. Blaster in hand, he edged carefully around the corner of the hall to face the back room.

  A grim, nearly silent struggle was taking place in the roiling darkness that filled the room like poison smoke. Blakely caught sight of red, glaring eyes and white teeth like knives. Then his partner came into view, his blond hair gleaming in the blackness like a star in space, struggling with the thing that seemed to be made of shadows and scales. Blakely raised his blaster, but they were too close.

  “Holt,” he shouted hoarsely, trying to get the blond’s attention. “Holt, stand clear so I can get a shot.” In the head, he was thinking. In the head, right between those fuckin’ red eyes—it’s the only way…

  “I can’t,” Holt shouted back, not daring to take his eyes from the daemon’s leering face. “It’s got her…it’s got her and it won’t let go, Blake!”

  For the first time, Blakely became aware of a faint sizzling sound by his feet. Looking down, he saw a familiar scarlet wig—Sadie’s wig. Oh, Goddess no—no! he thought. Not Sadie! The idea made him crazy. Lowering his head and charging like a bull, Blakely entered the fray, ready to save his partner and the woman he loved or die trying.

  It was a confusing mixed up mess, like trying to fight blindfolded at midnight in the middle of an ice-cold river with a strong current. The daemon’s presence had filled the small back room the way water fills a container and Blakely fought to get a deep breath, feeling the muscular coils of blackness snake around his body, pushing him in different directions as he struggled to find Holt’s blond head in the gloom.

  “Blake, over here!” He heard the shout and turned to find his partner struggling grimly with a smoky tentacle that was wrapped around his torso, pinning his arms to his sides.

  “Holt?” he gasped, taking in the pale features suddenly swimming in front of his own. “Where is she?”

  “Feeding on her,” Holt’s voice was breathless, “Won’t last long. Shoot it, Blake! Shoot the fucker!”

  “Where…?” Blakely started to ask in frustration and then his half-formed question was answered when the daemon’s face swam into view, leering and hateful, a predatory grin on its filthy alien face.

  Blakely just had time to register that it had Sadie clutched to itself, her head lolling unconsciously to one side, her long honey-brown hair flowing over the thing’s midnight-black skin when it opened its jaws, lined like a shark’s in multiple rows of razor-sharp teeth and clamped down on the pale skin of her exposed neck.

  “No!” Blakely heard the scream, but didn’t understand that it was coming from his own throat. The unspeakable sound of sucking filled the air and he felt a part of himself dying, dwindling to nothing right along with her fading life force. It all happened in a fraction of an instant. Then Sadie’s eyes fluttered briefly and her lips moved; she seemed to be trying to say a name.

  The small sign of life seemed to break his paralysis and Blakely felt an icy calm envelop his nerves as he dragged his gaze from her sweet face to the twisted features of the daemon. “Eat this you fucker,” he said in a cold, dead voice and, pressing the muzzle of his blaster between the slitted crimson eyes, he pulled the trigger again and again.

  The next thing he knew Holt was shaking him. “Wha…?” he tried to say. “No time, Blake, we’ve gotta move.” The tall blond was scooping something off the floor and to Blake’s horror, he saw it was the limp figure of a girl. Not just any girl—that’s Sadie. Sluggish trickles of blood were running from her torn throat and if she was breathing
at all, Blakely couldn’t tell it.

  “How the fuck?” He staggered to his feet and went to help Holt carry her.

  “Got her damn chip working again and followed us, I guess,” Holt’s voice was grim.

  “We’ve got to get her out of here, Blake. You put the daemon down but it’s not completely out, I don’t think. Takes a lot to kill those bastards.” He jerked his head at the rear of the small round room. Following his gesture, Blakely saw a boiling cloud of blackness still twitching feebly near a slender blond girl splayed carelessly on the floor. As he watched, the cloud moved to cover her face, obscuring the delicate features in a roil of black.

  “Who’s that?” Blakely pointed at the girl, or was it a prostie-borg? He couldn’t be sure.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Holt said grimly. “Just leave him—he’s getting what he deserves.”

  “He?” Blakely stared blankly at the feminine curves on the floor, but Holt’s urgency throbbed in the back of his brain like a drum beat and he followed his partner without question down the long hallway.

  “No blood vessels torn although I don’t know how they weren’t if what you’re telling me is correct.” The Medi-tech sighed and finished sponging off Sadie’s neck, which didn’t look nearly as bad as Blakely had expected it to. A neat row of double puncture marks decorated her slender white throat like a sideways necklace, but otherwise the flesh was intact.

  “So she’ll be okay then?” he asked hopefully. “I mean, if she didn’t lose too much blood and nothin’s torn. Right?”

  “I’m afraid not.” The Medi-tech looked grave. “I’m sorry gentlemen. If you’re not from this area then maybe you don’t understand. When a daemon attacks someone, when it feeds, it’s not blood that it’s taking. It’s…” he seemed to be searching for the right word. “Emotion…the will to live. We don’t really understand how it’s done, what exactly the daemon does to its victims. We only see the results.” He gestured in Sadie’s direction and turned away from them, tidying the contents of his small, sterile exam room as though the discussion was closed.