Ascendant Sun: A New Novel in the Saga of the Skolian Empire (15 page)

were
eager for all of us."
"Why is that less appealing?" Mirella grumbled. "I should rather like it if he showed some enthusiasm."
Heeza snorted. "You would."
"Come on." Tarquine pulled on Kelric's shoulder.
He turned to her, unsure what he intended. His mind was hazing as the drugs took over. When Tarquine brushed her lips across his, he put his arms around her waist. Pulling her against him, he deepened the kiss. She felt thin after the provider, her body sleek and firm.
She tugged him down and they lay together on the bed, he on his back and she along his side. Mirella stretched out on his other side. Lifting his head, he saw Heeza sitting cross-legged at his feet. Marix was still leaning against the bedpost, watching them with half-lidded eyes.
"Lie back," Mirella said, pushing Kelric down.
Tarquine rose on her elbow and looked at his face. Then she kissed him. All the time, Mirella was caressing his chest. Kelric wondered which one he should embrace, and if it would cause trouble for him later if he made the wrong choice now. With Tarquine on top, it was easiest to keep his arms where they already were, around her waist.
While he kissed Tarquine, Mirella explored his body. Heeza was taking off his jumpsuit. He looked up in time to see her drop it on the floor. Then she began stroking his leg. Marix slid over and put one arm around her waist while he put his other hand onto Kelric's calf.
"No!" Kelric pulled away his legs. They were suffocating him, their minds pressing on him. From what he knew about auctions, the bidders were forbidden to cause him physical injury that might affect the sale. But he felt them swimming in pleasure brought on by his body, his hair, his face, his skin, the enhanced pheromones the aphrodisiacs prodded him to produce, and the transcendence they were achieving from his discomfort.
He tried to sit up. "I don't want this."
Mirella pushed him back down. "Of course you do."
Kelric stared at her too beautiful face. "Don't touch me."
Tarquine spoke with unexpected gentleness. "It will go easier for you if you don't fight us."
Mirella caressed his thigh, then folded her hand around his erection. "The rest of you seems to have its own ideas about what you wish."
He stared at her, knowing his body would give them what they wanted no matter how he felt by their trespass. And trespass it was, regardless of how much the drugs caused him to respond.
He turned his head toward Tarquine and tried to switch off his thoughts, to imagine he was somewhere else. Home.
But his memories of home receded like a fading dream.

Kelric opened his eyes into dim light. He was alone, lying on his stomach. Someone had lowered the lights while he slept. The bed sheets were rumpled around him and the blankets lay strewn on the floor. He tried not to remember how they had ended up there.
The remains of dinner were still on the table. His hunger gnawed, but he was too tired to get up and cross the few meters to the table. He wondered why no one had cleaned it up. He must have been sleeping for several hours.
After a while it occurred to him to wonder who bought him. Then he wondered why he cared.
I want to go home, he thought. His father's farm on Lyshriol glistened in his mind like an unattainable dream of Earth's mythical Brigadoon.
So he lay, listless, staring at nothing. The door panel was within his view, so he saw when an arch shimmered open. Six guards entered, and two women in the uniforms of Taratus's private staff. One woman went to the table and began filling a platter with food. The other sat on the edge of the bed, near Kelric. She was holding a pile of clothes. The patch on her shoulder identified her as a medic. She had dark hair pulled back in a loose braid, hazel eyes, and an unremarkable face.
He wanted to cover his body, but he felt too tired to move. The medic seemed to understand. She pulled the sheet over him, up to his waist. Whatever the Hightons had chosen to believe about his willingness to lie with them during the auction, this medic had no illusions about the coercion involved.
She spoke softly. "How do you feel?"
"Tired," he said.
She set the clothes on the bed, then took a diagnostic tape from the pile. She seemed to know he didn't want it against his neck, where doctors usually placed the tape. Instead she unrolled it against his side. After reading the holos and data it produced, she rolled it up again and slid it into her pocket. He didn't ask what it said. As lousy as he felt, he knew he wasn't seriously hurt. Taratus would have stopped the auction otherwise.
"Can you get dressed?" she asked.
Kelric didn't answer. Instead he watched the other medic. In the dim light he couldn't see well, but it looked like she had finished loading the platter and was pouring wine into a goblet. "Is that for Taratus?" he asked.
"He is called Lord Taratus," the medic said. "Or Admiral Taratus. And no, it's not for him. It's for you."
"Oh." He blinked. "Thank you."
The other medic brought the platter and goblet over to the bed. "Can you sit up?" she asked. "Or lie on your side?"
Moving slowly, he turned on his side. When the medic put the goblet to his lips, he took a swallow. It ran down his throat, sweet and smooth, and exploded with warmth when it hit bottom. Pushing up on his elbow, he took the goblet and drained the rest in one swallow.
She set the platter in front of him. "Take as much as you like."
He ate most of the food. Ships usually carried synthetic supplies, to avoid taking up space with gardens or hydroponics labs. Apparently not Taratus, though, at least for himself and his honored guests. These vegetables were fresh. He didn't recognize the sauces or poultry, but it all tasted good.
After he finished, the second medic returned the platter to the table. The first one set the clothes next to him. "Would you like help dressing?"
"No." He didn't want anyone to touch him. "Is there a bathing room?"
She motioned to a wall behind the bed. "In there." Gently she added, "If you want us to leave while you dress, we will."
Kelric nodded, relieved.
After the medics and guards left, he got out of bed and went to the wall. When he pushed a panel, an archway shimmered open before him. The chamber beyond was five by five paces, tiled with a coppery-red alloy that never rusted. When he walked inside, his feet activated sensors on the tiled floor, and the wall re-formed behind him.
Kelric waited, but nothing happened. He said, "On," in Skolian. Still nothing. So he tried, "On," in Highton.
Scented water misted from the ceiling and walls, bathing him. He exhaled, grateful for its healing warmth. "Soap too," he said. The fragrance of aerated soap drifted into the misty air.
He leaned against the wall with his eyes closed. His whole body ached. The Law of Auction supposedly prohibited the bidders from hurting him, but he knew they had been transcending the entire time. With all four focused on him, it had been difficult to separate them into distinct personalities. He had felt Mirella strongest, then Heeza. Both were ice. Marix's dark, brooding presence scared the hell out of him. Tarquine was harder to define.
"Rinse," he said. Sometime later he said, "Off." The sprays trickled to nothing. When he said, "Open," the wall shimmered into oblivion.
He returned to the bed and picked up the clothes. The trousers and shirt were elegant and conservative. Made from gold velvet, they had a pile so plush it covered half his thumbnail. Although the garments fit snugly, they weren't skintight, and the shirt had long, belled sleeves. They weren't clothes he would have picked himself, but they were comfortable and felt good against his skin. In fact, he liked them, though he would never have admitted that to anyone, least of all the Aristos.
A memory came to him from when he was twenty. A girl he had liked, another cadet from the Dieshan Military Academy, asked him to a party. He wanted to go, to enjoy himself like other kids his age, make friends, dance with the girl. He couldn't, of course. For one thing, he was betrothed to an Imperial Admiral. For another, Ruby princes didn't go to parties with commoners.
Had he not been betrothed, he might have gone anyway. He didn't care about the titles. He was, at heart, the son of a farmer. His mother had wanted to live on his father's land, in part because she loved its beauty, but also because both his parents wished their children to have normal childhoods, away from the intrigues and chill of the Imperial court.
At twenty, though, with his marriage to Corey not much more than a year away, he had the House of Majda to consider. His parents might care little for pomp and ceremony, but with Majda it was everything. When he declined the invitation, his friend asked him a strange question:
What is it like to be wanted by everyone?
He had been nonplussed and hadn't known how to answer. He did now:
I want them to leave me alone.
Whether it was Aristos, Coban queens, Admiral Corey Majda, the Assembly, or ISC, he seemed to evoke a deep possessiveness in people. They wanted to own him, even those who weren't Traders. His mother had the same effect on people. Why? It couldn't only be his physical appearance; Aristos, at least, could create any standard of beauty they wanted with their providers. Whatever about him caused such an intense reaction, he wished he knew how to turn it off.
Across the room, the door shimmered open, revealing the medics and guards. Kelric went with them in silence. They followed tunnels that honeycombed the ship, until finally they reached an octagonal antechamber. A guard pressed a panel and spoke in a low voice. Then an archway opened.
They walked into a copper office. Taratus was sitting at a huge desk made from gold, bronze, and copper. With his booted feet up on the desktop, he was leaning back in a large gold chair, his attention focused on a palmtop in his hand. The unrelieved black of his uniform made a stark contrast to the warm hues of his office.
The admiral looked up. "Ah. There you are." He swung his feet off the desk and sat up straight. With a wave of his hand at the guards, he said, "Leave him here. You can all wait outside."
Concern flickered on the face of the guard captain. But he simply bowed and said, "Yes, sir." Then he and the others went out and closed the entrance, leaving Kelric with Taratus.
The Aristo indicated a gold chair. "Sit down."
Kelric leaned against the wall by the door and crossed his arms. "I'd rather stand."
"If you want," Taratus said absently, turning back to his palmtop. Suddenly he grinned. "They're still bidding."
"On me?" Kelric asked.
Taratus looked up and laughed. "Who else?"
Kelric told himself not to ask, that he didn't want to know, that it would only make him feel worse. But his curiosity got the better of him. "How much?"
Taratus settled back in his big chair, exuding satisfaction. "Heeza just made one for nine point six."
Kelric wasn't sure what that meant. A bid for 9.6 what? Thousand? It seemed low, considering all the fuss Taratus had made about how much he expected Kelric would cost.
The admiral burst out laughing. "Skolia be damned, you're
disappointed.
You think you're worth more, hmm?"
Kelric scowled. "I don't think I'm 'worth' anything. You can't put a price on humanity."
"Oh, I don't know about that. You're bringing me a nice one." Watching his palmtop, he beamed. "Mirella: nine point nine. Tarquine: ten point three. Wait— hers came in at the same time as a ten point four from Marix. She's making another ..." He laughed. "A ten point nine. Beat that!"
"Eleven thousand?" Kelric asked.
That
got Taratus's attention. He stared at Kelric for a full three seconds before he responded. "You think they're betting in thousands?"
"Aren't they?"
"Millions," Taratus murmured. "Tarquine just bid ten point nine million for you."
Kelric stared at him. "That's
appalling.
"
The warlord looked amused. "Why ever for?"
"Do you know how many people you could feed with eleven million Highton credits?" Kelric thought of the poverty he had seen on so many worlds. "You could build housing, schools, community programs. For
millions
of people."
"Whatever." Turning back to his palmtop, he said, "Look at that. Mirella: twelve point six. Tarquine: twelve point seven." He paused. "Mirella: twelve point eight." Another pause. "Marix: thirteen." He sounded positively gleeful. "Thirteen million. I've never sold a provider for half this much." He grinned at Kelric. "You did one hell of a job in there."
Kelric tried not to grit his teeth. "I didn't do anything."
"Well, they certainly liked the anything that you didn't do." Focusing on his palmtop again, he said, "They're starting to slow down. The Marix bet is still the last ... No, here's Tarquine, at thirteen point one. Marix: thirteen point two. Tarquine: thirteen point three. Marix: thirteen point four." He smirked. "They're going to decimal each other to death." He glanced at Kelric. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," Kelric lied.
"Coperia wants me to thank you."
"Who?"
"Coperia. My provider. I told her about my deal with you." In a bemused voice he added, "I think it surprised her that I agreed. She told me she would, ah, make it worth my while." He smiled. "She does please me, you know."
Kelric had been sure the admiral lied when he claimed he was tired of Coperia. He was glad to know she would have a reprieve. He hated thinking of her with Taratus, but at least the warlord would be gentle for twenty days.
Taratus returned his attention to his palmtop. "Marix's thirteen point four is still the last one."
Kelric grimaced. Marix was the one he least wanted to end up with.
Taratus tapped at his palmtop. "I'm sending out a final call for bids."
An odd thought came to Kelric. "Taratus."
The warlord looked up. "No one calls me that."
"Admiral Taratus."
"Yes?"
"Why didn't you interrogate me for ESComm before putting me up for auction?"
"You're too old," Taratus said. "I don't mean age-wise; you're younger than I am by at least thirty years. But your biomech is old. It wasn't worth the trouble."
Although that made some sense, it struck Kelric as strange anyway. It was true that had he been only a Jagernaut, ESComm wouldn't have discovered much from his dated knowledge or biomech. It seemed odd, though, that the rigid Traders, who operated with meticulous precision, would let even a slight chance slip by that they might discover useful intelligence.
Why else would Taratus spare him from ESComm? Out of
compassion
? Was that possible?
Taratus glanced down at his palmtop— and whistled. "That old hawk must be richer than a diamond moon. Tarquine: fourteen point zero." He entered a command, then waited. After several moments he closed the palmtop with a satisfied snap. Leaning back in his huge chair, he swung his feet back up on the desk, put his hands behind his head, and grinned at Kelric.
"Congratulations," Taratus said. "You just became the most expensive slave in Eubian history."