The Omega Cage (7 page)

He hated this time of day, no matter what world he was on. He hated it particularly if he was in a prison yard, because then it was most difficult to ignore the voices far at the back of his skull that reminded him of what his life had come to, what it might have been, had things gone differently…

"I hear you maybe have trouble on the way," a voice said behind him. It was Raze.

Without turning, Maro said, "Maybe."

"Karnaaj has been here before," she said. "Been a while. Last guy he came to see didn't survive it."

Maro turned slowly. The bodybuilder wore a prison coverall, opened enough so that he could see the tan lines on her body, pale against the darker brown overlaying the hard muscle.

"You know anything about Black Sun?" he asked.

Raze shrugged. "What everybody does. I never did much business with them directly."

"I did. As long as I did what they wanted, we got along. I was pretty good at my trade; I could get things on and off some tight planets. Black Sun contracted for my services more than a few times. Until I decided I could make a better profit on my own."

Raze smiled. "A mistake?"

Maro laughed, a short, bitter sound. "Some people might think so. I'm in here because I stepped on their toes. I never was very good at taking orders.''

"You know a lot about them."

"So Scanner told you. Yes. And I figure Karnaaj plans to either score points by snapping up a few minor operators to dangle before his Confed bosses, or else buy his way into the organization, to cut a piece of the action."

"You gonna tell him what you know?"

A few more prisoners drifted toward them. Maro saw Scanner and Sandoz among the inmates.

"I think not."

Raze laughed, a pleasant sound. "Honor among thieves? Or are you worried that Black Sun will get to you even here?"

It was Maro's turn to shrug. "If they want me bad enough, they could find me if I were hiding in a black hole. I don't owe them anything. Then again, I owe the Confed even less. Black Sun set me up, but the Confed runs this pit. Black Sun at least admits to what it is—criminals out to make a profit. The Confed pretends to be a benevolent government, which is as big a lie as ever was told in this galaxy. I'd rather be dead than help them."

"Nice speech," Sandoz said. "But how well do you think it'll work when they start hammering on you? You'll tell them then. You won't have a choice. They'll pry it out of you. I know—I've been there."

"At least they'll
have
to pry it out," Maro said.

"Maybe it won't come to that," Scanner murmured.

The others looked at him. He continued, "I found something else while I was dancing over your file. A map. Very detailed, covering the entire hemisphere. If you can figure a way to get us over the wall, I can plot a path away from here."

There was silence for a long moment. "Why didn't you find this before?" Sandoz asked suspiciously. "You've been poking around in that goddamned computer for five years."

Scanner shook his head. "I don't know. It wasn't there before."

"Could it be a trick? Put there for you to find?"

"I don't think so," Scanner said. "It shows things some of us have seen, just where they're supposed to be. I don't think they know I can get in. I don't leave tracks."

Maro said, "It's worth looking at, this map. If we can figure out a way over the wall…"

"That should be easy," Sandoz said, his voice heavy with irony.

Maro looked at Scanner. "You know anything about interparticle physics?"

Scanner gave out one short chuckle. "Oh, sure. Every night before I go to sleep I try to read all the latest sub-atomic research, done by my esteemed colleagues here." He waved one hand to encompass the other inmates.

Maro ignored the sarcasm. "You know what a Bender is?"

"I know that, yes."

"Can you find out about the Zonn? Anything on the city they left here?"

"I can find what there is," Scanner said. "Why?"

"Maybe nothing. But," Maro said, "I met a man once—a xenologist. He told me some things about the Zonn artifacts; some theories about the materials they used. It might help us."

Sandoz smiled. "I can tell you the stuff makes diamond look like clay. Half a million years old and there isn't a scratch on it. You planning on walking through those walls, Maro?"

Maro said, "I don't know. Maybe."

Juete lay next to Stark, listening to the even sound of the warden's breathing. He was asleep, but unless she moved with great care, she would awaken him. She could tell him she was going to the fresher, which was true enough; but if he were awake, he would wait for her to return. And likely he would want her again. As much as she liked sex, as much as she had to have it, she did not want to be with Stark right now. To be a prisoner was bad enough; to be a slave was worse. She hated him; worse, she hated herself for responding to him when he took her. There was no help for it—it was the way she was. More than once she had cursed the fate that had made her an albino Exotic.

Stark solved her dilemma by rolling from his back onto his side, facing away from her. Juete moved quickly, so that the bed's motion caused by her leaving would be unnoticed in his changing of position.

She stood next to the bed for a moment and waited for his breathing to resume the cadence of deep sleep, then moved quietly away to the fresher. Inside, she shut the door and dialed the light up slightly, but not to full brightness. She sat on the covered bidet and drew her feet up to touch her bare buttocks, clasping her arms around her knees. She took several deep breaths, letting them out softly.

After a moment, the tears began to flow. She cried silently, mouth open wide so he would not hear her sobs. When he slept was her only time alone, the only time she could be reasonably sure that he would not send for her. If he caught her crying, he would demand to know what was wrong. When she had first arrived, she had thought to blame the tears on things around her. Once she had said a prisoner had spoken harshly to her. For that lie, the man paid with his life.

Juete could not forget that, no matter how she tried. That was when she knew that she was his slave, now and forever.

He owned her. Her sentence had been commuted—he didn't know that she knew—and she was certain that he meant to take her with him when he left the Cage.

That was all that kept her going—the thought that someday she might leave this hellish planet. Even as his slave, there was a chance she could escape him once they were back on a civilized world.

Stark wanted her to love him; Juete could feel that as she had felt it with a dozen others. They all wanted her, but they also wanted her to love them, body and soul and mind, exclusively and forever. She had withheld that from him, had kept it as her final trump. When he was transferred, as someday he must be, she would play it then, pretend to give him that which he wanted so much. Once he believed that she loved him, he would relax his vigilance. And once he loosened his hold on her, even a fraction, she could flee.

The tears flowed faster as she thought about escape. To be free, to have the choice of where to go, and with whom, that was her goal. Without it she would have no reason to continue living. With it, there was hope, however small and distant it might be.

"Juete?"

The sound froze her, even sleep-fogged as it was. She wiped the tears away with both hands as though he could see through the panel.

"In the fresher," she called.

"Hurry back," he said. His voice was more awake now. "I have a surprise for you."

The Exotic had to squeeze her eyes shut quickly to keep from crying again.

Quickly, she ran cold water in the basin and washed her face and hands. She dried herself and forced a fake smile into place.
The master calls, whore. Go and
give him that which he desires—for now. But someday it will change
.

Someday
. . .

Chapter Eight

Commander Karnaaj sat stiffly in the chair across from Stark, as if he were afraid that the inert chunk of furniture might swallow him alive if he relaxed in the slightest. Stark found himself struck once again by the bloodless features.

Karnaaj's skin was almost as pale as Juete's.

"Is he ready to talk?" Karnaaj said.

Stark glanced away from the other man's unblinking stare. "I think not. Exposure to the other convicts affected him not at all; I threatened him with mindwipe, but if he was afraid, I could not detect it. I hesitated to utilize any stronger methods, knowing your insistance on keeping him available."
Do your own damned work
.

Stark thought.
If he dies, you can't blame me for it
.

"I see." The intelligence officer removed a small flatscreen unit the size of his palm from his gray uniform tunic, thumbed up a file and glanced at it. Stark sat quietly fuming as Kamaaj ignored him. Finally, Karnaaj said, "I have business in the city."

There was no need to specify which city, as there was only one of any size on Omega. "It will take perhaps a week or ten days to attend to," Karnaaj continued.

"When I return, the prisoner should be ready to tell me what 1 wish to know."

Stark could not resist the temptation. "Oh? And how is this to be accomplished. Commander?"

This time Karnaaj smiled, very slightly. "Use the Zonn Chamber."

Stark sat up in his chair, astonished. "I thought you wanted information from him. The Zonn Chamber will reduce him to a gibbering wreck! No human or mue has ever come out sane after more than a day or two in it."

"You will find that Dain Maro isn't quite as fragile as that, if our information is correct."

"And if your information is incorrect?"

Karnaaj smiled again, stretching his thin lips slightly but still not showing any teeth. "Then you will have the satisfaction of seeing me proved wrong, Commander Stark. A pleasure for you, I am certain it will be."

"Whatever can you mean, Commander? Why should I take any pleasure from the distress of a fellow Confederation officer?" Stark's voice was bland, but there was no hiding how he felt from himself. He would
love
to see Karnaaj fall flat.

He would never say that, of course; his computer was recording the conversation, and he was willing to bet a thousand standards to a toenail that Karnaaj's flatscreen also had a vocalstat working.

Karnaaj made a small gesture of dismissal. "In any event, I suggest that you incarcerate Maro in the Zonn Chamber immediately. I would also suggest that he be monitered at eight hour intervals. I leave the state of his sanity to your judgement. Remove him when you think he is willing to respond to my questions."

"Wait just a moment, Commander—"

"You have doctors, Warden. Surely you can manage to keep one prisoner mentally healthy for a few days."

Stark started to reply, then stopped. This was all being recorded, he reminded himself. Carefully, he said, "On your orders, then, Commander Karnaaj, I shall incarcerate prisoner Dain Maro in the Zonn Chamber. I shall utilize my best efforts to maintain his sanity until your return; however, I cannot guarantee this.

The Zonn Chamber is poorly understood by our science. I can hardly be blamed for its effect upon a man's mind."

Karnaaj grinned wider, showing perfect teeth. "Yes you can, Warden. You are aiding the
Soldatutmarkt
in its investigation into intragalactic criminal activites, but Maro is
your
prisoner. I have told you to use your judgement in utilizing my
suggestion
that you place Maro in a portion of the prison for which
you
have been given responsibility. By assuming this command, you have indicated your fitness to hold it. You have more practical experience in using the Zonn artifacts than most scientists; therefore, you are to use this practical knowledge to aid me in my investigation." He stood. "I have indicated where your responsibility lies.

See that you understand this, Warden."

Oh, I understand
, Stark thought.
You have put the responsibility on my shoulders
well enough. If I screw up, my head will roll. My only consolation is that yours
will probably roll next to mine, and I find that scant comfort
.

"I'll have a guard escort you out, Commander Kamaaj."

"No need. I know the way."

Juete was on her way to Stark's office when the thin, cadaverous man wearing the uniform of a Confederation officer appeared at the corridor's intersection in front of her. Kamaaj. She knew of him; most albinos on the Darkworld had heard of him, for Karnaaj had "owned" no less than three Exotics, at no small cost for the illegal slavery involved. She had heard the horror stories, had even known one of the families from which the Confed soldier had taken one of his victims. While nearly all humans and mues felt an attraction to Exotics, Kamaaj apparently felt it to an unusual degree. Two women and one man, hardly more than a boy, really, had been sold to him. And all three had died beneath his ministrations.

They had not, she had heard, been pleasant deaths.

Kamaaj saw her, and his smile seemed to take over his face. He stopped in front of her, and she knew it would be foolish to try to go around him.

"Ah. You would be Juete, Stark's Exotic." He let his gaze travel up and down her body slowly. Juete repressed a shudder. She had felt the touch of thousands of admiring looks, but none so chilling as this.

Kamaaj put out a hand as if to feel the firmness of her shoulder. Juete pushed the hand away. The man laughed. "Ah, a sense of self! I like that!" Abruptly his smile faded, and the look that replaced it was more akin to hunger. All humor was gone from his voice when next he spoke. "You are beautiful, of course, but more so than even other Exotics I have known. You could keep a man very happy, I have no doubt." He paused, and the smile returned, but it no longer hid the desire. "Would you like to leave Omega? I can arrange it, you know. You can be a free woman again."

Dumbly, Juete shook her head. Freedom with this man would be short and painful, and the end of it would be the final chill.