Vicious Circle

by Elle E. Ire

  That sun had set, and judging from the height of the three-quarter moon, the hour was quite late. The Triumph’s computer lit the yacht with soft incandescent lamps strung around the topside cabin. The effect gave it a celebratory air, and I could picture well-dressed citizens strolling the deck, sipping drinks, while whatever music the upper class currently favored played softly in the background.

  I faced Kila, watching her sleep. Her parted lips and the complete relaxation in her expression erased years from her. Again I fought down seething rage over what she’d endured at her brother’s hands.

  My stomach growled. I stood and padded barefoot to the door leading inside. The supplies in the galley consisted of instameals and a preparation unit, though there was empty storage for fresh produce and other goods. I heated a vegetarian casserole and carried it to the bridge.

  “Greetings, guest.” The automated voice startled me, and I fumbled but caught my fork. “How may I assist you?” The viewscreen lit up, showing a moonlit ocean and millions of stars.

  I sank into the cushioned central chair. “ETA to home port?” I mumbled around a mouthful of food. The flavors tasted unfamiliar but pleasant, with a touch of spiciness that tingled on my tongue and made me wish I’d grabbed a drink as well.

  “Eighteen hours, nine minutes at current speed.”

  I munched another bite and swallowed. “Any vessels nearby?” So much for my peaceful state. Once paranoid, always paranoid.

  “One commercial vessel, the Louise, seven leagues astern.”

  Okay, I knew astern meant behind us. Spaceship terminology borrowed heavily from nautical terms. And a league was pretty far, though I wasn’t familiar with exact calculations of distances at sea. Seven of them sounded like we had the area to ourselves. “Thanks. Nothing further.”

  The screen went dark.

  I finished my meal and tapped my fingers on the armrest. Like space travel, ocean travel could be boring. My arm swung down by my side and brushed something made of fabric—Kila’s bag. Without looking, I felt my way inside and touched the cover of the Generational.

  Slowly, I drew the large volume into my hands and rested it on my lap. The script on its cover, embossed in gold, was faded so much as to be almost illegible. I hesitated. Assassins might share sleeping and eating quarters, but they respected privacy. I did not want to alienate Kila by invading hers. But maybe a glimpse into her religious beliefs would help me analyze her unusual words and confusing gestures toward me. Maybe the book contained a commandment instructing believers to treat all others as potential lovers.

  I opened the book and very carefully turned to random pages. She’d never forgive me if I damaged the sacred tome. The paper felt brittle, and some sections had detached from the binding, though none appeared out of order. Inside, the writing remained clear and dark enough to read, although the arcane form of our Standard language caused me to pause and review numerous passages to grasp their meanings. Ornate hand-drawn pictures amazed me with their detail and beauty. One in particular, a temple with a domed roof and sculpted exterior columns, caught my attention and held it. Light flared from its oval windows, casting beams across the page to each of the four corners. It apparently appealed to Kila as well. The binding showed more creasing here than in other parts of the Generational, and she’d left a small plastic chip between the pages to mark this place. “And the Giver of Life shall return to the sacred temple where He shall disseminate His gifts to the worthy, the innocent, and the pure, and He shall be protected by an army of steadfast warriors granted leave to take life on His behalf. His army shall defend Him in eternal strife against the ephemeral minions of the bringer of death.”

  Interesting. And completely meaningless out of context.

  At least I could relate to the whole bringer of death part, but ephemeral minions?

  I snorted and turned to the front and back of the book. Of course, it didn’t contain a glossary or table of contents. If one were reading this text, it was assumed one should know its organization and precepts.

  I looked for other thin plastic place markers and found one toward the front. Scanning, I located a passage on the page, more worn than others, as if someone traced her finger across it, time and time again. “At the turn of the second decade, He shall come of age, and His Gifts be granted in full by the true Powers. He of the line is both blessed and cursed.”

  Uh-huh. My mind shifted the words, but without further perusal, I couldn’t form meanings. Maybe I could find some way to ask Kila about it, though why I cared, I couldn’t fathom. What mattered to her mattered to me now too. In a way, she’d become my new Guild.

  I reached to replace the book where I’d found it, but gentle hands pulled it from my grasp.

  Chapter 12

  “THANK YOU,” Kila said. Her tone implied gratitude for more than the return of the book. Her mouth formed an amused smile. Her eyes crinkled at the corners.

  “You’re not angry?”

  Kila’s eyebrows rose. “For caring enough about me to be curious?” She placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, and the skin beneath my shirt heated.

  “Oh.” Interesting perspective. I would have been angry.

  Kila put away the book, turned, and left the bridge.

  I spent the rest of the night and early morning flat on my back in a bunk in one of the guest cabins. Sleep eluded me, no matter how hard I tried to recapture it. I counted the slats in the ceiling overhead, actually the underside of the above deck. Forty-eight slats. I double-checked.

  The decor of the cabin suited the warm climate—lots of pastels in the furnishings and frills on the curtains over the porthole. It was a girly room, with a mirrored dresser and a settee for applying makeup.

  It was all alien to me.

  In the adjacent bath, I’d opened each of the delicate glass containers on the sideboard, trying to identify soap. I selected the one that smelled the least flowery. For all I knew, I’d rubbed mouthwash over my hands.

  What would my life have been like if I’d grown up a normal girl in an average family? Would the violent tendencies have surfaced if I hadn’t been a slave?

  I didn’t understand Kila. I certainly wouldn’t want to suffer the negative aspects of her life. But part of me envied her.

  And I couldn’t get her out of my mind.

  Dawn broke over the ocean’s surface, and the glow outside the porthole turned a pinkish orange. I found myself gripping the sides of the bed frame, just to keep myself from going to her cabin.

  Something needed to give in the tension between us. Otherwise the distraction would get me killed.

  “IT’S TIME you told me what the plan is.” I seated myself opposite Kila in the yacht’s galley. The long wooden table would have held at least six. She took an empty plate and scooped rehydrated fruits and breads on it, then passed it to me. My long shower worked wonders. I hardly noticed her delicate fingers or the way her off-the-shoulder top exposed the skin around her neck. Fates save me. This was worse than I’d been as a teenager around Micah.

  She didn’t meet my eyes, and I got a sinking feeling. Whatever her plan, Kila didn’t expect me to like it.

  “I think—” She paused, cleared her throat, and started again. “I think I’ll tell my family that you are my consort.”

  I covered my mouth with my hand and stared at the table. The silence dragged out between us. The first chuckle surprised me. It grew to genuine laughter, and soon I had tears rolling down my cheeks from my mirth.

  Everything made perfect sense now. This plan had been in her head since we left Deluge. Her touches and gestures? All part of a performance. Whether conscious or unconscious, she’d been preparing for my introduction to her relatives and my reason for being on her estate.

  Relief flooded me, dampened only by a touch of disappointment I quickly smothered with a bite into my bread roll. Once I managed to control myself, I looked up and signaled with a wave for her to continue. My hand froze midgesture. Her stricken expression tore at
my soul.

  Maybe I’d hurt her feelings, finding so much humor in her plan.

  Or maybe my hypothesis was wrong.

  Kila pushed away from the table and left the room. I heard her cabin door slam. The sound echoed along the short hallway.

  With nothing to do but wait for her to calm down, I returned to my own cabin. I paced to the wall and back, trying to relieve the frustration. We couldn’t afford this crap. In a few hours, we would dock at her family’s island. Private security would ask questions that needed answers. Assassins didn’t work undercover, at least not this one. I hunted my targets and killed them. My acting ability sucked.

  Another long shower helped. The boat had a top-of-the-line system with plenty of pressure and hot water. I let it pour over me, luxuriating in its warmth, washing my anger down the drain.

  When I emerged, I found a smart-pack on my bed. That explained how Kila managed to store so much in her single shoulder bag even with its large size. Lifting it in my hands, I let my finger run along its airtight seal. It released, and the neatly folded and compressed clothing within it burst a little through the open seam.

  I removed a skirt and blouse in blue and green jewel tones and shook them out over the bed. My size. Wonderful.

  When I donned the outfit, the transformation stunned me. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, marveling at how much feminine clothing softened me. The green skirt hung in a circled flare halfway between knees and ankles. The shirt hugged my curves and enhanced my breasts. A bejeweled headband drew my hair away from my face, accenting my cheekbones and high forehead. A keen observer would detect the hardness, the wear and tear in the shadows beneath my eyes, but it would no longer be the first thing someone noticed.

  It would never convince me to “go girlie.” For one thing, I couldn’t strap on a holster to carry a pistol. Well, a thigh holster would work, I supposed, but I didn’t have one, and the single blade in my boot didn’t comfort enough. Secondly, I liked my hardened, intimidating appearance. I needed it.

  I twirled once, watching the skirt whirl around me and feeling silly even as a smile crossed my face.

  This was a nice temporary change, though.

  Judging from the open admiration on Kila’s face when I found her in the galley, she liked it too. She made no reference to our earlier topic of conversation, and I didn’t bring it up.

  “Sit!” she ordered me.

  I obeyed with a raised eyebrow, and she took a small case off the counter behind her. When she opened it, I leaned as far away from her as I could in the confining chair. “Oh no you don’t,” I warned.

  Weapons drawn, she came at me, prepared to leave marks. I would have slid the seat back, but iron fasteners bolted it to the deck.

  She had me. At the first touch, I wrinkled my face in disgust. The makeup felt wet and sticky and smelled funny.

  “Quit scrunching like that. You’re making this harder. I’ll mess up.” Kila finished slathering beige crap on my cheeks, forehead, nose, and chin. She put one brush away and grabbed another.

  “It’s all a mess up,” I grumbled, my words garbled while I tried to hold my mouth still.

  She finished lips and eyes, and I grabbed a mirror from her kit.

  I hardly recognized my reflection. The last time I’d studied myself this thoroughly, I’d been gaunt and pale, drunk and hooked on palotrin. Now my exposure to the Lissex sun had returned the tan I’d lost when I left Sardonen. Even living and working in the caverns there, Guild members couldn’t avoid the intense sunlight of the desert world entirely. I didn’t realize until now how much I’d missed the healthier look…. Kila’s artistry brought out my eyes, hid minor imperfections and a few early lines around my mouth, and subtracted another couple of years. I analyzed her appearance more closely. Her personal makeup choices added to her maturity. By doing so, she’d narrowed the apparent age gap between us, making us appear more like contemporaries.

  “Just one more thing.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but she caught my hand and extended my arm out straight. Rolling up my sleeve, she revealed the Guild brand. To this, she applied a generous amount of beige cover until the marks vanished beneath the goop.

  “Just in case.” Kila patted my shoulder.

  Strange emotions flooded me. Officially, I hadn’t belonged to the Guild in months, but the brand signified so much more. On assignments, I wore long sleeves or jackets, which had the benefit of preventing unnecessary identification and unwanted questions and kept me from scaring every stranger I met. But in general, I wasn’t trying to hide. Intentionally covering the symbols felt, well, wrong, and very final in a way I couldn’t define. To my immense embarrassment and surprise, my eyes filled with tears.

  Kila continued to admire her artistry, scanning from my wrist up to my face. We locked gazes. For the first time, I felt no need to hide my emotions from someone, and it was like she could read my thoughts. “Oh!” Her smile faded, and she caught me up in a hug. We stayed that way for several seconds before she pulled back and met my eyes again. Her serious expression had all my attention. “I’m sorry, Cor. I didn’t think how this might affect you, especially that.” She inclined her head toward my wrist.

  “It’s the smart thing to do.” More dependable than jewelry or even long sleeves. My voice came out hoarse. I cursed myself silently.

  “I’m not trying to change you. I just want to protect you.”

  That brought a snort from me. No one protected me. Well, no one since Micah, and even he failed that test in the end, choosing his reputation over my exoneration. “I thought that was my job. You’ve got it backward.”

  “Arriving at destination.” The boat’s computer voice sounded through the internal speaker system and interrupted the awkwardness. Standing, I skirted around Kila. “Welcome to Triumph!” I fought not to roll my eyes and failed. They named the boat after the T’ral family island. Like it or not, the plan was in progress.

  Topside, I noticed the large volume of boats, yachts, and merchant ships in dock. Though we still floated well off shore, I could see the dozens, if not hundreds, of flags in a rainbow of colors flying atop the masts in the glow of the late-afternoon sun.

  Triumph didn’t look to be a very large island. I could discern the curve of the shoreline even at this close distance. Unless it extended directly away from us, thus hiding length, it was actually a pretty small place.

  Our computerized captain cut the engines to one-quarter power, then further as it delicately maneuvered our vessel in and among the others. Closer in, it appeared boats filled every slip of the long wooden dock. Some ships anchored themselves in the calm bay, ferrying in crew and passengers via rowboats that lined a strip of beach near the working docks. Family vessels took priority, though. One last empty space awaited us at the end of the wharf closest to the sprawling village and affording the shortest walking distance.

  As we docked, underwater lines extending automatically to connect with receiving ports on shore, I noticed the crowded streets of traditional cobblestone. In some places people had to turn sideways in order to pass one another.

  “Is it always like this?” I turned to Kila. She stared out at the scene, a frown pulling at her lips and concern in her eyes.

  “No. This is at least five times our normal population.” Graceful as ever, she snagged her bag and hopped over the side onto the boardwalk. “They’re here for my brother’s inheritance ceremony.” Her tone sounded low and flat.

  I swung a borrowed carry sack containing my weapons over my shoulder and followed. She trudged ahead, almost stomping in her anger, brushing between shoppers and tourists with no regard for their complaints at her brusqueness. I spotted different sorts as well, military types, mercenaries, and a number of unsavory characters, all of them incongruous in this sun-kissed vacation destination. Even stranger, many carried modern copies of the Generational religious text. Some were plastic-sheeted hard copies with the name emblazoned on the covers in garish gold. Others h
eld smaller digital versions, but I could still read the title on their cases. Kila shoved between them, oblivious to all while I nodded, smiled, and mumbled apologies. Even disguised in my current costume, the last thing I wanted was to draw attention to myself.

  I suppose I couldn’t blame Kila for her frustration. Celebratory banners hung in doorways and from second-floor balconies, all bearing the T’ral family colors of yellow and teal. Her brother raped her, and the town was throwing him a party.

  Best to let it get out of her system before we reached the mansion rising above the smaller structures at the edge of town. No one bothered with aircars in a community this small, and the little seaside village seemed to cultivate quaintness and a lack of technology as an affectation for visitors, so I trudged after her, heading for her family home.

  Chapter 13

  THE PROSPECT of meeting Lord and Lady T’ral made me as nervous as if I really were Kila’s consort seeking their approval. Maybe more so, since completing my assignment depended on them accepting me in the household.

  Getting past the security contingent at the gate provided the first obstacle. No fewer than six guards flanked the wrought-iron bars surrounding the three-story mansion. Their teal uniforms with yellow trim gave them an almost clown-like appearance, but their piercing eyes and professional demeanor discouraged any antics.

  I presented one of my many false identification chips. When inserted into their netreader, it would bring up a headshot and my name—Corianne Enara from Deluge—along with the address of my below-street-level apartment. Kila introduced me as a friend, slipping her hand in mine with such comfortable ease I blinked twice before smiling. Her grip felt warm. My own palm sweated, and I resisted the urge to pull away and wipe it on my clothing.