The 6th of Six (The Legend of Kimraig Llu) (23 page)

With her Battle Group’s victory, Viral—a name with two meanings—had broken the childhood taunts calling her “precious,” the first meaning. Now a battle veteran, she became like a serious infection, the second meaning. She had proved she would be able to help the Others kill the Wicca when the time came. Exactly what the leaders who championed her had wanted when they picked her to be a Queen. She had become their tool, one of many, who believed in equality for all regardless of their sexual preference. They would be the military force needed to break away from their rulers. Inside her armor lay a bright blue scarf, a symbol of the secretive Blue Army.

To build her reputation, the two Leaders added the “1” to her name, Queen Viral-1, an instant battlefield promotion. With her stood two young boys blooded the same day—Hunter Kimraig and Hunter Jake. Mistress Ann reluctantly confirmed by sending word of Viral-1’s victory and her battlefield promotion to the Lower and Middle levels of all Buildings.

Her message only confirmed news rapidly spreading through the buildings. Old one-armed Grant had already used his C-link to call everyone he knew. Thing is with old people, they remember how to keep in touch; they have networks of shared interest among their ever shrinking numbers.

With those calls a legend was born. A boy became the idol for all the forgotten people in those hellish levels—Kimraig Llu, hero of the Hoarder Riots.

Ordered by Mistress Ann to stay out of the fight against the Hoarders, Boomer and Lark received her new message as they marched the two remaining “training groups” through the front doors of Numbers 5 Building. They helped clean all the people out of every room of every floor in Lower and Middle levels, gently but firmly distributing them across the remaining four buildings. They did the work—an unwitting tool for the reigning Wicca.

No common people would ever live there again—except servants

From this day on, Number 5 Building would be all about politics. From this day on, the government would be isolated from the people it served. No need for the politicians to return to the buildings they represented on a daily basis, except for a month or two at the end of their ten-year term. When the logistics of that became too difficult, they would extend their terms for life.

Mistress Ann basked in praise for her brilliant decision to send children “in training” to slap the faces of those ruffians. Mistress Ann wallowed in a fit of rage so deep she could see the yellow and red edges of the hell her father’s religion had threatened her with as a child. How dare they live and then win the battle to add to the insult.

One incomplete item remained—Battle Group 301. The cancer she had directed at her manufactured riots had turned malignant.

That was long ago, yet Mistress Ann continued to stew over her failure. Less than five of that original group remained. She had personally seen to their isolation, only to have that nothing Kimraig gather them all around him. Then, Leader Sala lets Charles, who would have been the image for the Others new government, die at the hands of his lover.

This only positive note in all this was the look on Leader Sala’s face when Mistress Ann refused to help her repair the damage.

Chapter 10. The Street Boils

“Fit it,” Mistress Ann hissed impatiently. “It is your problem, not mine.”

That forced Leader Sala to deal with the wreckage of her secret network alone. Yes, Charles was her mess, she controlled him and now he was dead, murdered. Since he was the man chosen by Mistress Ann as the face of their new government, the old woman should accept partial responsibility. Obviously, that was not going to happen.

Charles had thrown away all their preparation because he was impatient. He squandered his chance of leading the Others to victory, with Sala directing things behind the scenes. He could not even keep his lover happy. Instead, his lover Marvin had murdered Charles.

At least their plot remained intact.

Even with a living Mistress Ann still around, Leader Sala would take command. She had not known her Mistress had been dealing directly with Charles, bypassing her completely.

She knew there was no choice, she must continue working with “Her Highness” Mistress Ann. That woman would not share power with anyone, much less, “homos,” as the old woman called her people. Sala was tired of biding her time. No help for that, they had failed this time but they still controlled more than half of the five buildings from behind the scenes.

Leader Sala held no illusions about most of her following. They would fold if confronted with an armed force, so, she had arranged for small raiding parties manned with zealots to their cause. They would take the heat and lead it away from their soft center. She would shut down each building one at a time. Then these high and mighty fat cats will disappear in favor of a government of Others.

It would not take long to dispose of the members of the Council, they would be killed one after the other, and the blame shifted to Kimraig and his gang of misfits. A few well placed “V’s” cut into dead Superiors, then kill the Leaders who had not joined their cause.

What would they all do without the Wicca? They would survive of course.

Think about fun later, she cautioned herself. Who would be able to replace Charles and Marvin? She had to have another male, even a set would be better. Maybe she did not need a set, males tended to go their own way, shunning their female counterparts. And especially if that female had chosen to bear the Mating Ritual as she had.

Leader Sala found that she had enjoyed the Ritual just as much as she enjoyed Breen or any of her many Hunters. Still, males felt isolated because they had no rights when even the dullest female had opportunity after opportunity if she selected an alternate life style.

Then there was the female ex-trooper who had abducted her—willingly—from her favorite twenty-four-hour nightclub, where Sala had no business being. That woman had taken her places she had never been, then demanded—and received—Sala’s lapel pin, twisted lightning bolts of gold and bright blue. A trophy, the woman had said, of the first time she had seduced a Leader.

Perhaps Breen would help her make a decision. Sala would not provide details, only ask if another male should replace Charles as the head of the Others, or perhaps a female would be better. Leader Breen had helped her many years ago.

* * *

Sala had been eleven when Breen helped her, small and delicate, but with pronounced breasts and swelling hips. As always, she had dawdled on the training concourse when she should have followed her battle group back to quarters. Tired of her dreaming, she started for the door.

No one had waited.

As she tried to push through the doors she found them locked. She had company, two boys laughing behind her. She turned and found Lower Level kids who did not belong here. She must have jumped a mile with relief as the door opened behind her. Then a hand felt her hair.

“Nice,” a third boy said, obviously attached to the hand. “Not only that, we are happy you waited for us out here where we can all be alone.”

“I did not wait. I do not even know you.” Sala was a little worried now since she was only half trained in hand-to-hand combat. She backed away as they started towards her.

“Thing is, we came down here a couple of times and saw you wandering around.”

One of them, the tallest one, was leering now.

“What you say guys, shall we help this sweet thing out? She sure looks like she would love to give us a ride.”

“I do not need help from any of you,” she said as the instructor’s lunch table hit her behind the knees.

“You just relax now honey. We will each take turns first and then, as a special treat, all three of us will ride you at the same time.”

They tore her clothes, tied part of them around her mouth. She screamed and heard nothing. Their hands were everywhere. Her legs were winched apart so wide it hurt. The tall one was pressing against her...there. He looked surprised as blood splattered from the sword blade pushing out his ribs, and the blade lifted him from her, discarding him to the ground.

More screaming—the smaller ones this time. She drew up to a ball for protection.

“Sala, little Sala. Up now, you must soothe your fear.”

She could see it was the new Queen, Breen-1, who had helped train her practice battle group.

“I have no clothes,” she gasped as she finally stood on her trembling feet.

“You will not need clothes for this.” Breen-1 held her arm leading her to the two boys writhing on the ground. Both had the back of each foot sliced deep, crippling them. They were trying to scuttle away, but those bloody, flopping feet would not make purchase.

“Here, take this sword and kill one.”

The blood soaked hilt of the weapon slid in Sala’s hand. “But I do not wish to...”

“Nonsense, they were about to do worse to you.”

She sought to delay her action and then forced herself to pick one. Thinking of the training dummies, Sala imagined an X and struck down hard with the point. The thing twitched a little and was still.

“Now the other,” Breen-1 ordered coldly.

No hesitation this time, the imagined X bobbed about in her watering eyes. In a moment, it also lay still. The sword was whisked away to be cleaned and then slid back into the Queen’s scabbard.

“Remember this. A young girl, you, foolishly forgot where she was and chose to forfeit the lives of three males to pay for her mistake. Now you are a woman, a woman who must live with the result of her actions.”

“But they were going...It was not my fault...You killed...one.’

“Silence now, walk back to your dorm.”

“I have no clothes. And...there is so much blood,”

“Go, they will see you and there will be questions. Say nothing, as will I. What they do not know, they will make up, and then the bodies will be found.”

Sala went.

The next morning, the three naked bodies lay amid her torn clothing and their discarded shirts and shorts. The training instructors thought they knew exactly what had happened. The jeers and hoots of the night before directed at a blood covered your girl, turned into a new respect. Sala became an instant hero who would not tell where she hid her sword.

* * *

Leader Sala swallowed the sour taste left by the memory of Mistress Ann abandoning her with this problem. She shoved it aside and glanced toward Breen who rode beside her on this trip.

The seat was padded but the bumps in the uneven road still rattled to Breen’s very center. Even with her ravished body, she would have preferred to march again, rather than ride inside this SHORT.

Its name should be Stabbing Pain instead of Short Pencil.

Only when alone would she allow herself the comfort of retreating to her bitchy teenage self. Her bitch had seen her through the nine months of pain—seemed like years—during her pregnancy. That and the memory of the absolute pleasure jammed into her Mating Ritual. Every lover, more than she could count, had failed to match the passion she had enjoyed with Kimraig.

As the years passed, the needs of her body became secondary to the essence of power hovering constantly out of reach.

Just minutes ago, her young lover Sala, comes to her with this prize—help her make a pick. She wanted a replacement for Charles, someone to lead the Others.
Oh yes, she would find someone to manipulate events. In fact, she had just the person in mind: herself.

That was the only positive outcome of the meeting this morning.

If Sala offered her the chance to be the face of the Others’ new government, she needed her own base. A building located far enough away from the Wicca, where she could use the title forbidden to her: The 6th of Six. In the near future, she could see an opportunity for an empire of her own. Kimraig’s army would help her do that. Sala and the Others would provide backing.

For now, she would be Breen again, starting fresh without rank of any kind.

Time was what she needed the most. Time to bend Kimraig to her will. Yes, love would mold him.

She watched him sleeping upright on the bench next to her. As suspected, Mistress Ann had not sent him to meet her. In two minutes, she and Sala commandeered a fright elevator before another tank of liquid construction material could be loaded.

It took forever to reach the roof, not quite as long to stare down his three guards. When they reached the basement, Kimraig, his twenty-one-crew members, and three hastily refitted SHORTS, joined Breen’s column headed for Number 6 Building.

Breen knew she would pay for upsetting the 1st of One’s plan for Kimraig. She also knew she had her own plans, which, when complete, should satisfy “Her Highness.” Breen giggled in a fine parody of her mentor. Mistress Ann hated that nickname.

Kimraig jerked awake at the sound, grinned and spoke. “We must stop meeting in these cramped spaces. I thought that old bat Mistress Ann had locked me in with herself again.”

“Do you know where you are?” she asked.

“Yes, in route to your Number 6 Building.”

His voice held an edge she had not heard before. Whether she could control him or not would be decided now, here on these hard seats. She glanced to Leader Sala while giving a small negative twist to her neck, warning Kimraig not to continue. Breen would draw his attention elsewhere until they could talk in private.