Ascendant Sun: A New Novel in the Saga of the Skolian Empire (12 page)

The engine's radiance blinded him. Kelric snapped the geltab to his lips in the same instant someone grabbed his arms. A jumbled rush of thoughts hit him: they didn't want to shoot, for fear of damaging him. They dragged him out of the chamber, pushing down his hand that held the geltab. In the brilliant light, he barely made out four people. He felt what he didn't see. Like a void, the mind of an Aristo warlord opened before him.
Kelric fought. It made no difference that he couldn't see his antagonists. His body toggled into combat mode and Bolt calculated the responses it expected from his captors. He was well below optimum, stiff from his hours in the compartment, but he needed only pull his arm free long enough to take the geltab.
They changed their minds about shooting him. He never saw the guns, but he felt the shots. Neural blocks spread in his upper body, stealing his ability to move. He started to fall, but someone caught him. Someone else pried the geltab out of his fist.
No.
Why hadn't he taken it before? He had gambled on life— and lost.
They locked his wrists behind his back. Straining to see, he made out four officers in black, each wearing a visor to protect his eyes. They took his upper arms and dragged him to the ladder. He couldn't see the Aristo, but he felt his presence.
Someone lowered a sling into the well. Fast and efficient, the team pushed Kelric into the sling and tied him into its mesh. Then someone hoisted him out of the well. At the top, four blurred figures freed him with the same quick, impersonal motions. Light blazed around them. They pulled him to his feet, one on each side holding his arm, and took off with long steps, forcing him to stride between them or be dragged. He managed to walk only because the blockers had affected his legs less than his upper body.
They took him out into a corridor. When they shut the hatch to the engine bay, the sudden loss of light made the area almost black to Kelric. The guards started down the corridor, pulling him with them, their guns drawn and ready.
As his eyes adapted, he was able to see his captors, eight officers and the Aristo. Did they believe they needed eight guards to subdue one man? If he had been at full capacity, they would have been right. They must have known, or suspected, they were dealing with a Jagernaut.
The Aristo walked a pace in front of him, to the left. He was as tall as Kelric, but leaner. His black hair shimmered. He had a narrow face, with a hooked nose and classic lines. His skin looked as smooth, and as cold, as snowmarble.
He glanced at Kelric. Red eyes. Ruby-hard. Kelric stared back, mesmerized by that gaze. He was falling,
falling ...
No. He shored up his mental barriers. The sense of falling retreated but didn't disappear.
The Aristo held up his hand and the guards stopped, bringing Kelric to a halt. The warlord came to stand in front of him. He studied his prisoner, his face unexpectedly kind. Then he spoke in a mild voice. "What is your Kyle rating?"
Kelric stared at him. The Aristo's apparent gentleness did nothing to mute the sense of an abyss his mind produced.
"Answer me, gold man," the Aristo murmured.
"Six," Kelric lied.
"Six. Just barely a telepath." The warlord gave him another of his incongruously kind smiles. Then he hit Kelric open-handed across the face.
The blow slammed Kelric into the grip of his guards. If they hadn't held him, he would have fallen, unable to keep his balance with his body partially paralyzed and his arms locked behind his back. Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself upright and stood straight, meeting the Aristo's gaze.
The warlord tilted his head. His thoughts washed over Kelric: he hadn't expected his prisoner to show such strength of will. In his oddly gentle voice, he said, "Again. What Kyle rating?"
Kelric almost repeated
six.
But to what point? He needed a lie they would believe. Speaking with difficulty, as if forcing out information he didn't want to reveal, he said, "Ten."
"Ten. I've never known a provider with such a high rating." The Aristo grinned. "I'm pleased, Jagernaut. You're going to make me a very wealthy man. Or wealthier, I should say."
Jagernaut. So they knew. Unless his ability to read people had suddenly plummeted, though, they
didn't
know he was also titled.
"How did you find me?" Kelric asked.
His captor smiled again. "I asked your engineering officer. Charming fellow, Commander Jaes."
After working with Marko Jaes, Kelric knew the engineer. Marko wouldn't have willingly given him away. Had ESComm done the interrogation? Or officers like these? He didn't recognize their uniforms. They looked more like a private security force than any branch of Eubian Space Command.
He hoped Marko was all right. The Traders did have humane forms of interrogation. They didn't need torture, which violated the Halstaad Code of War. Given that Maccar and his crew weren't psions, a good chance existed the Traders wouldn't trample the Code, particularly if they intended to hold a public trial.
Am I next? he wondered. They would find him much harder to break. In response to interrogation, his biomech web activated specialized nanomeds in his body. Those meds acted on the brain centers that controlled speech, making it almost impossible for him to reveal secured information. If that wasn't enough, the meds could disrupt neural pathways, erasing his memories. Of course, his interrogators could inject meds of their own to fight his. Truth serums offered other alternatives. But he wouldn't make it easy.
"Your friend betrayed you, you know," the Aristo said.
Kelric ignored the comment. "What will happen to Maccar and his crew?"
"The captain will go on trial. Perhaps his officers too." He gave Kelric an apologetic smile. "It's a shame we couldn't locate the weapons officer who actually carried out that brutal attack on those helpless ships. Apparently the coward committed suicide rather than let himself be taken."
Kelric regarded him steadily. "Selling me on the Eubian slave market is a direct violation of the Halstaad Code."
"Really?" The Aristo sighed. "That assumes you exist. We searched the ship and found no trace of your body." In a pleasant voice, as if they were discussing art treasures, he added, "Besides, I've no intention of selling you on the open market. For a provider of your value? It will be a private auction, of course."
Kelric gritted his teeth. "Go to hell."
"I don't think so," the warlord murmured. "It's too hot." Then he motioned to his officers.
They set off down the hall, taking Kelric to his nightmare.

A gilded can. Kelric could think of no better words for his "cell." The Aristo, Admiral Taratus, kept him on a private yacht rather than an ESComm vessel. Kelric's guards were part of the admiral's private security force. As far as ESComm knew, Kelric didn't exist.
He paid close attention to everything. If he ever escaped, his knowledge about Eube could prove valuable. He also kept himself physically prepared. Today he went through the exercises he always did in low-g to stay fit. Although the yacht had about 60 percent gravity, he felt almost no Coriolis effects. That suggested Taratus had a much larger craft than Maccar. It didn't surprise him; the admiral was part of the Highton caste, which put him at the top of the Aristo hierarchy.
After he had worked out and cooled down, he lay on the bed and studied the domed ceiling, looking for anything useful. He didn't see much. Rainbow sparks of light spangled through a diamond half sphere at the dome's apex. Gold, copper, and bronze mosaics tiled the ceiling and walls in subtle designs of birds and bare women.
When he grew bored, he played Quis. Taratus had taken his dice, so he worked out games in his mind. He coded his observations of the admiral's ship into mental Quis patterns and put them into bigger structures. Then he evolved the structures using Quis rules. After a while he assigned cultural, political, and social meaning to the rules. He wasn't sure what he would achieve, but he knew no one had ever analyzed the Traders this way. Maybe it would offer insights on how to deal with them. If nothing else, it gave him something to do.
Eventually he grew tired. Turning onto his side, he rubbed the bedcovers. The sheets were gilter-silk, a gold cloth that felt blissfully soft but shone like metal. The blankets were gilter-velvet and the comforter a billowy white fur. Sensors sheathed his airbed. They responded to his every movement, estimated his needs, and altered the bed's shape, softness, and buoyancy to please him.
His loose jumpsuit was made from white-gold velvet. It rippled against his skin, as rich as sin. Subtle fragrances drifted in the chamber, he had no idea from where. If he asked for music, the walls gave him almost any selection, even Skolian and Allied works.
He didn't care how good it all smelled, sounded, looked, or felt. He wanted this over with. He had been here two days and nothing had happened. At least he had seen no more of Taratus. As an ESComm admiral, his captor had duties to attend. So he left Kelric hidden on his yacht until he had time for the auction.
Taskmakers in amber jumpsuits brought his meals on gold platters. They treated him with courtesy, but never spoke. When he made eye contact, their gaze slid away. From their minds he picked up that he both fascinated and frightened them. They reacted more as if he were an Aristo than a provider. He suspected it was because he had no clue how to act like a slave.
Twice the food was drugged; he fell asleep soon after he ate. He suspected doctors examined him while he slept. Taratus had to know by now he was dying. Would he tell the bidders at the auction? The Law of Trade made it a crime to sell an injured slave without disclosing that information. Then again, he had seen what little regard Taratus had for the law, at least the Halstaad Code. The admiral couldn't get away with hiding Kelric's condition, though. His buyer would find out soon enough, giving her a legal case strong enough to win against even an ESComm admiral.
A bell chimed. Lifting his head, he saw the wall shimmer. An archway appeared and a young woman in a bronze jumpsuit entered. He glimpsed guards behind her. The wall solidified again, leaving her inside and the guards outside. She came forward carrying a small gold pillow.
Unlike the other taskmakers, this one was stunning. Red-gold curls framed her heart-shaped face. She had high cheekbones, full lips, and perfect skin. Her eyes were gorgeous, though they seemed too large to be natural. Nor did their color look real; the pupils were the exact same shade of bronze as her hair and jumpsuit.
Color-coordinated slaves? Knowing the Aristos, it didn't surprise him. Then again, who was he to define "natural"? Although his eyes and hair were brown now, with gold highlights, their normal color was metallic gold, a result of genetic tinkering that had adapted his ancestors to the bright sun on a planet they colonized.
The girl's sleek bodysuit left no secrets. She must have been bodysculpted. Surely no normal woman had such a small, perfect waist or such large nipples. He wondered how her breasts stayed up so well. Her garment fit like a skin, so if she had any support, it would show. And it didn't. He rubbed his thumb against his fingers, itching to close his hands around those well-sized marvels of structural suspension.
Kelric suddenly realized he was staring at her. Embarrassed, he rolled onto his back and looked at the ceiling. What was Taratus up to, sending him this lovely creature?
She sat on the bed and set down her pillow. Glancing at her, he realized her "pillow" was a bag of clothes. No, not clothes in plural. Just trousers. Or something. They had to be hers; made from black gilter-velvet, they had too little material to fit someone his size.
He turned onto his side. In Skolian Flag he asked, "Why are you here?"
She responded like every taskmaker he had met in the last two days, which meant she said nothing. He doubted she understood. As far as he knew, Highton was the only language Aristos taught their providers, if they taught them one at all.
Only the Qox Dynasty and Aristos spoke Highton, much as only Kelric's family and the Ruby noble houses spoke Iotic. A few other groups learned Highton or Iotic: scholars, military linguists, finance wizards. That Kelric knew either tongue didn't necessarily reveal his background. But it would raise suspicion. So he spoke in a dialect of Skolian Flag used by Cammish farmers on Foreshires Hold. He was no trained actor, though, with spinal nodes to enhance his ability. Sooner or later he was bound to give away his Iotic accent.
It wouldn't have made much difference even if the taskmakers had understood his words. He gathered from their minds that Taratus had forbidden them to talk with him. Usually he picked up only a slight sense of their thoughts, but he read this girl more easily. She wasn't even allowed to say her name.
She set a vial on the bed. Leaning on his elbow, he picked up the small bottle. Made from rose-hued glass, it had a gold stopper shaped like a flower. Or no, it wasn't "rose-hued." It was ruby, probably designed from molecular assemblers that built it atom by atom in solution and then swam away.
When he pulled out the stopper, a pleasant fragrance drifted out. Was she trying to allure him with scents too? He stoppered the vial and set it back on the bed.
Watching him, she smiled. It was more interaction than he had enjoyed with anyone else here. He already liked her and she had only been in his room a few moments.
Then it hit him. Of course he liked her. This was no taskmaker. She was a provider. A pleasure slave.
"Why are you here?" he asked. She didn't respond. Frustrated, and annoyed at Taratus for this strange new game, he turned on his back and resumed his study of the ceiling.
The girl scooted over to him and pressed an air syringe against his neck. He reacted in pure reflex, with enhanced speed, sitting upright as he knocked away the syringe. It flew out of her hand and clattered to the tiled floor.
"What was that?" he asked. "What did you do to me?"
Spots of color bloomed in her cheeks, like roses in cream. In her fear, she was even more beautiful, with a sexualized presence that made it hard to remember why he was angry. Did Aristos design her that way? Why make providers even more appealing when they were scared? He didn't want to know the answer.
In a quieter voice he said, "I'm not going to hurt you." He indicated the syringe. "What was that?" He spread his hands to show puzzlement, then gestured at the syringe again. "What?"
She averted her gaze. Her lashes lay long on her cheeks, bronze like the rest of her. Without thinking, he brushed his fingertips across her cheek. Unsettled by his impulse to touch her, he dropped his arm. What would happen when the drug she gave him began to have an effect? Would he pass out? Get sick?
The girl looked up at him. Then she ran her thumb down the center seam of his jumpsuit, from his neck to his abdomen. The garment fell open, revealing the curly gold-brown hair on his chest.
Embarrassed, he pushed away her arm. "Stop that."
She averted her gaze and folded her hands in her lap. Watching her, he thought:
Now what?
Then he saw a glimmer on her cheek. He put his hand under her chin and tilted up her face. Tears? She was
crying
? Flustered, he said, "What's wrong? What did I say?"
No answer.
Kelric watched the girl. How could he communicate and keep up the charade that he spoke no Highton? Maybe she was crying because Taratus would punish her if she didn't complete whatever task he had given her. Why would Taratus send him a sex slave? Aside from the obvious, the admiral had to have a reason.
He spoke gently. "You're beautiful, but I don't trust this."
She just stared at her hands. With each breath, her breasts rose and fell. He tried to stop staring at the jumpsuit that clung to her body. Her seductive scent enveloped him, almost tangible in its presence.
He touched her hair where it spilled down her neck. Soft curls feathered around his fingers. Sliding his hand to her shoulder, he explored her collarbone through her clothes. Her gilter-velvet bodysuit felt drugging in its sensuality.
Drugging.
Kelric jerked away his hand. That syringe had contained a damned
aphrodisiac.
He looked around, trying to guess if monitors watched them. In a loud voice he said, "I won't do it, Taratus."
The girl looked up with a start, drawing his attention. A tear slid down her cheek.
"Ah, no. Don't cry." He raked his hand through his hair.
The tear dropped from her chin to her breast, soaking into the velvet. He touched the damp spot. So soft. So firm. He folded his hand around her breast and she murmured encouragement.
He felt hot. Fevered. Had they given him Kerradonna? One of the better-known aphrodisiacs, it was actually poison. Whatever cocktail of drugs had been in that syringe, it included a lot more than Kerradonna, though. He could barely even think straight.
The girl slid her hand across his chest, stroking his skin. Such a sweet touch. With a sigh of surrender, he pulled her into his arms. She molded against him, pliant and warm as she put her arms around his neck. Then she tilted her face up to his, her lips parting, full and rosy.
So he kissed her. He knew as soon as his mouth touched hers that she had a nanogel on her lips. The gels contained nanomeds that entered the body through the skin and acted on the nervous system to increase tactile sensitivity. He wanted to pull away. But she felt good in his arms. Soft. He had been so lonely ...
Kelric thought of Ixpar, hoping it would cool his ardor. But as soon as he imagined his ex-wife, his desire surged. Gods, he missed her. Those long legs, her flaming hair, her head thrown back as she laughed— his body remembered it all, especially their nights together. With a groan, he pulled the girl closer, too drugged now to distinguish her from the woman he loved.
He lay on the bed, drawing her to him. She tugged his jumpsuit off his shoulders, then caressed his chest, murmuring approval, as if he were the most spectacular specimen of manhood she had ever met. The small piece of his brain that hadn't yet succumbed to the drugs wondered if she was this convincing with everyone. The rest of him no longer cared. Real or created, she was his now.
As he pulled his arms out of his sleeves, she tugged the jumpsuit down to his waist. Her clothes dissolved under his touch. Literally. The material disintegrated with body heat. Amazing, how the Aristos elevated the act of love to such a fine art. Except for them, it wasn't love.
He stretched out on top of her and ran his hands up her sides, exploring her curves and skin. So soft. Vulnerable. He stroked her breasts, then slid down and closed his mouth around one, suckling her enlarged nipple. Again he tasted nanogels. The drugs in his body and the girl's sheer eroticism took away his thoughts. With his last shred of reason, he wondered if being pumped full of aphrodisiacs would hurt him. He doubted the influx of so many foreign meds into his body would help. What the hell. What did it matter? He was going to die anyway.
No trace of her clothes remained, neither on the girl nor the bed. He pulled his jumpsuit off the rest of the way, then covered her small body with his large one, trying not to smother her. All the time, she kept stroking him, finding his most sensitive places, her touch impossibly skilled for someone her age. Then again, he had no idea of her true age. Her appearance would fit whatever erotic ideal Taratus wanted.
As she kissed him, his body responded with a heightened, fevered desire. It was maddening. With a powerful thrust, he entered her. She arched her body along his in just the right way. It felt incredible. She made small sounds, warm and intoxicated, as if he were mankind's best lover. He knew the Aristos had made her to react that way, but she was too sweet and he was too drugged to care.
Beautiful man,
she murmured.
Startled, he raised his head. She hadn't spoken. It took him a moment to realize her mind was blending with his. She picked up his pleasure and fed it back to him in a loop of sensuality no Aristo could ever know, because no Aristo could be an telepath. By instinct, he was doing the same for her, as he had always done with his lovers, even when he tried to hold back. Now, with his defenses gone, he and the girl merged into a lush haze of eroticism.
Kelric moved on top of her, steady and strong. Her response intensified, until she cried out and went rigid under him, pushing her hips against his. Soft and wild, she held on tight, like a wisp caught in a storm. His storm. She shuddered with the rolling sensations of her orgasm, her impassioned desire for him far more arousing than any nanogel.
Finally she lay still, exhausted. Even then he kept making love to her. She caressed him, murmuring in Highton. Still he couldn't finish. With growing anger, he realized what was wrong. The drugs in that syringe had included a suppressant. It acted on the brain centers that processed an orgasm. He couldn't climax until the suppressant wore off, which could be hours.
He wanted to curse. Why deny him his release? But the words never left his mouth, lost in his hazed ocean of desire. The provider kissed him, her bio-enhanced body already responding again. So he held her, and loved her, and tried to forget.