The Omega Cage (8 page)

His smile vanished, replaced this time by anger. "It doesn't matter what you want, slut! It is not your choice to make. I shall have you—my only regret is that I must wait until I return before it happens."

Juete felt cold settle into her, an icy sensation that sheathed her like a splash of liquid air. Kamaaj reached out again and cupped her breast with one thin hand.

She made no move to prevent it. He kneaded her breast, not gently, pinching the nipple until it stirred and erected under his thumb and forefinger. "Already your body desires me. I know you people. You may hate me with your mind, but your flesh aches for my touch. Soon, my sweet child—soon."

He stroked her face once, using one finger, then walked away.

He was right. She hated him, she hated
all
of them who used her and her kind as sexual toys, without any thought for the mind behind the desirable body. But she also could not deny her genetic code, and he was right about the desire. The flesh was weak; it had been programmed to be so, and it would always remain so.

As Karnaaj's footsteps died away, Juete turned and saw Stark standing in the doorway to his office. She was an expert on human emotion; she could read body language like a basic primer. The look on his face held fear, rage, jealousy, and lust. She had seen the latter three on him before, but the first, fear, was new.

Despite the precariousness of her situation, she enjoyed seeing Stark afraid. She started toward him, wondering how much of what Karnaaj had said she would tell her current jailer. All of it, she decided. That would make him worry even more, and he deserved all the worry she could provide him.

Scanner had duty in the library again, but he sent Chameleon to tell Maro about the Zonn. Maro was working an ancient floor buffer over the worn wood of the dining hall. The machine's robotics kept sticking in a diagonal pattern, and he had to stop every few minutes to reprogram the correct sequence.

Chameleon looked ten years younger than when Maro had seen him last. His hair was red now, and little more than a fuzzy cap. His eyes had turned green.

"Nobody knows what the Zonn looked like or where they went," Chameleon told him. "Scattered around the galaxy are ten cities like the one the Cage is built around, mostly high-walled. If they left anything else, half a million years took care of it. That's how long the scientists figure they've been gone.

"Scanner says he's checking on that stuff you told him about. Seems there are some interesting experiments going on as to the exact nature of the Zonn walls. I dunno all the technical shit he spouted, but he says we're dealing with energy more than mass, and your comment about the Bender fits right in. He also says the impossible might take a little longer."

Maro grinned. The buffer started off on a tangent again, and he went to stop it.

He punched in the code once more, and after a few seconds the machine resumed its back-and-forth pattern. Beneath its brushes the floor gleamed dully.

"But there's bad news, too," the face dancer continued. "Karnaaj just left, and the word is that you are to go into the Zonn Chamber."

"What's that?"

Chameleon shivered theatrically. "Nobody knows for sure. It's the only place in the prison that is completely enclosed by Zonn material. Some rooms have incorporated one or two walls, but the Zonn Chamber has four, plus the floor.

The only way in or out is through a door in the ceiling, which is man-made.

People put inside go crazy after a little while. It does something to your mind."

"What?"

Chameleon shrugged. "The ones who just went in and came right out talked about nightmares and visions. The ones left in for a while don't talk about anything—anything that makes sense, that is."

"The Demon Graveyard," Maro said softly.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just something I learned once about concentration."

"Yeah, well. Scanner says to come by the library when you get off; he wants to talk to you."

"Copy that."

"And Maro—good luck. I wouldn't want to be you right now."

Stark tried to keep the smile fixed in place, but it was hard. His guts churned when he thought about Juete with Karnaaj. The man was a powerful enemy, and he did not doubt that he would try to take Juete from him. Stark did not think he had the clout to stop him in a showdown. But there were other ways.

Juete stood watching him. "You are going to have an accident," he said to her.

"A fatal one. When Kamaaj gets back, he won't find you."

Her face lit with fear.

"No, no, not really," he said quickly to reassure her. "I'll hide you until he is gone. We'll fake an accident, cremate a body, and show him the ashes. After he's gone you can come out, and things will go back to normal."

She relaxed somewhat. "I'll have to keep you out of sight," Stark continued.

"There are some cells in solitary… I'll have some nice things installed for you—"

"Alone? You'll make me stay
alone
?" The fear had returned to her face, and her voice now held a deep measure of horror.

"Just for a little while. A few weeks—"

"No! I can't! You don't understand! I can't be alone, I need to be with people!"

"It's only a temporary measure," he said, trying to calm her.

"I'll
die
!"

He felt himself beginning to lose patience. "Don't be absurd. You don't understand; I'm trying to protect you—"

"
You
don't understand! I'm an Exotic; I
have
to have people to talk to, to touch, to be with!"

His jaw muscles danced as he clamped down on his anger. He was doing this for her, was she so stupid she couldn't see that? He realized it would be hard on her, but it was the lesser evil. "There is no other choice," he said.

"There are always other choices! You could kill him!"

"Calm down, Juete—"

He put his hands on her shoulders, and at his touch she became abruptly still; the tension seemed to discharge from her, to be replaced with a lassitudinious resignation that was even more upsetting to him. "All right," she said dully.

"You are my keeper; I must obey you."

That was her most painful barb, one that always sank the deepest into his heart.

Not "I love you and do this because you wish it," but "I obey because you order it." He would do almost anything to avoid hearing that slavelike tone in her voice. Almost anything, but not this. Giving her up for any reason was too much.

Especially to an animal like Kamaaj. He had to hide her.

"I will make it up to you after he is gone, I promise. And I'll visit you every day.

You'll have a transceiver, so we can talk, and a holoproj and recordings to watch.

Books and games and music, too. It won't be as if you are stranded on some barren asteroid or something."

"Anything you say," she said listlessly.

Chapter Nine

The warden himself escorted Maro to the Zonn Chamber, along with Lepto and another guard. The latter were both armed with spetsdods. Maro had once been hit by one of the chemical flechettes that the little dart guns molded to the back of the hand fired, and the headache that had followed his awakening had been memorable. He had no intention of trying to fight. He found it interesting, though, that the warden was concerned enough that he brought along two armed guards.

They came to a wall of Zonn material, gunmetal blue and cold. A narrow wooden stair had been built next to it, and Lepto gestured with the hand that wore the weapon that Maro should climb the steps.

At the top was a platform of ferrofoam, into which a trap door had been cut. The second guard followed Maro and swung the door open. A synlon rope ladder lay piled on the roof next to the trap door. The guard shoved the ladder into the dark opening.

"Any final words?" the warden asked.

Maro shook his head.

"Inside, then. Somebody will be back in eight hours to check on you. If you're ready to tell the SIU what they want to know, you can come out. Otherwise…"

Stark nodded toward the opening.

Maro said nothing. He grabbed the smoothly braided top rung and descended into the chamber.

When he reached the bottom the ladder was withdrawn. The heavy door swung shut after him. The darkness was very quiet. Maro looked around. The room was fairly large, about four meters by six meters, with a ceiling three meters high.

There was barely enough light to see by, though where it came from he could not have said. The ceiling was of ferrofoam, but the featureless walls and floor were all courtesy of the Zonn. In the far corner was a chemical toilet and cabinet with meager depil, soap and towels. A fan-folded bed completed the picture.

He spotted the photomutable gel eye of the holocam mounted opposite the toilet, where Scanner said it would be. He turned away from the optical and put a hand to his face, as if rubbing his jaw, using the motion to hide what he was really doing: spitting the ear-and-throat patch transceiver Scanner had given him into his hand.

"It might not work," Scanner had told him. "About half the time, the spy gear they got in there puts out nothing but wavy green lines on the holoproj. But if you cover the earpatch with your hair and stick the throat patch low, so the coverall hides it, we might be able to talk. I used a shielded circuit chip so you won't bleed into another frequency, but there's no guarantees. Don't use it unless you really need to."

"Thanks, Scanner. I owe you."

"Nothing is what you owe me. That info you gave me on the Zonn might just get us out of here. I still need some more, though. I've tapped into a Confed opchan, a straight link to the archives on Bocca. If you're right, we might have something. But there's things you know you aren't saying yet, I take it?'

Maro had nodded. "Yes. Something I paid a lot for when I found out I was coming here."

"I thought so. And we'll need it, so we need you."

"I'll try to stay in one piece."

"That's not a problem in the Zonn chamber. Trying to stay sane is. Call if it gets bad. Maybe I can help, somehow."

Now, in the chamber, he felt the pressure of whatever mental energies the Zonn had left imbued in their technological marvels. There was a strong sense of alien
others
tapping at the entrance to his mind. It came faintly at first, like gentle whispers on a stray breeze.

Being other whither which?

Proud see hold clear open open open!

He felt a quick lance of fear, which he managed to dispel. He combed his hair with his fingers, surreptitiously setting the receiving part of the compatch behind his ear as he did so. Then he scratched his neck and stuck the throat patch into place.

If he was to use it, he would have to sub vocalize, so that the cell's sound gear would not hear him. Or maybe he could just rant and pretend to be talking to invisible friends. That would be a nice touch.

At the moment, however, Maro had to fight the sense of suffocation that enveloped him. He grabbed the thin towel from the rack and folded it, then sat on it in the middle of the room, feeling instinctively that it was better not to have direct contact with the coldness of the Zonn construct any more than he could help. And he most certainly did not want to fall asleep, so the bed was out.

He sat tailor-fashion on the folded towel, his hands in his lap. He needed to erect a mindshield immediately. He took several cleansing breaths, then closed his eyes and began.

When he had reached a fairly high level of meditation during the Soul Meld training, his instructors had used an enecephalocaster to create the illusion called the Demons' Graveyard, as a test of his concentration. It had been a terrifying experience, one which many of his fellow students had failed. Maro had survived, but it had not been easy.

It had been simple enough to understand the goal: to spend the night in a graveyard filled with demons who try to devour your essence. If you concentrated properly, you could defeat them; if not, they could engulf your soul and you would suffer the tortures of the worst possible hell.

It had been a test to concentrate his
ki
, his mental power. He had passed the test then, and he intended to pass it now.

But even as he built up his mindshield, using the meditative techniques he had practiced for years, he felt the demons gathering in the darkness outside his sanity. They were infinitely more powerful than those he had faced before. He could feel fear beginning to crack the foundations of his shield…

"He's just sitting there, Warden. Like before."

Stark switched his com off with a savage twist. It had been four hours. Usually by this time, prisoners were swearing, screaming to be set free, crying or laughing hysterically. But none of them had ever just squatted in the goddamned cell and done
nothing
!

As much as it galled him to admit it, Stark realized that Kamaaj had been right.

This Maro had something going for him, something that set him apart from and above the rest of the scum under his jurisdiction. Aside from his irritation at the fact, something he couldn't quite touch gnawed at a distant corner of his mind—an uncomfortable sensation that made him want to turn around and look behind him. This could lead to trouble, and he had enough of
that
dealing with Juete and that bastard Karnaaj.

He looked at his chronometer. He'd promised Juete he would come to see her at least twice a day, and already he was late for the first visit. Kamaaj was not due back in the Cage for some time yet, but Stark was taking no chances—he had had her incarcerated today. She had pleaded and begged again for him to reconsider—the little fool! Couldn't she see he was doing this for her own good?

Obviously not. But that wouldn't stop him.

Juete sat on the bunk in the cell, staring at the wall. What she felt was called eremophobia; that was the name the doctors gave it. It was common among certain populations, notably the albinos on Rim, also called the Darkworld, in the Beta System. Eremophobia: the fear of being alone. Among her people such a fear was inbred, as much a part of their genetic makeup as pheromonic attractiveness and white skin. The warped genius who had stirred the chromosomal stew that resulted in albino Exotics had certainly known how to get what he wanted.