Fortress
by Becca Abbott
Part 5
"I love you."
Iason's voice was soft and smoky. It wound around Riki, enveloping him in its sensuous warmth. Like the Blondie's hands, it could soothe Riki or inflame him to passion. He rolled over in Iason's huge bed and slid up next to that long, hard body.
"Why?" he asked, feeling Iason's heartbeat against his own. "Why me?"
When he lay like this, the top of his head fit right under Iason's chin. In that embrace, Riki felt safe, sheltered.
"Because you are beautiful. Because you are strong. Because there is a light in you that makes the darkest nights bearable. How could I not love you?"
"I'm only a mongrel."
"No. You are the man I love."
Something crashed in the other room. Riki started — and woke. The warm, bright Eos condo vanished. He caught his breath, every muscle in his body tensing as his reality rushed back. There was no soft mattress under him, only stone that bled cold into his bruised and naked skin. It was not sunlight that lit his surroundings, only the dim glow of a single bulb that never went out.
Heavy footsteps sounded in the corridor outside the cell. His gut tightened. Walk past, he prayed silently. Keep going. But the footsteps stopped and the door rattled. Simms. It had to be. The captain himself brought Riki his meals now and he made Riki pay handsomely for the service. Mindful of the Templar's wishes and unwilling to invite more punishment for defying them, Riki slid from the bench. When the door opened, he was on his knees, face inches from the floor, hands flat against it.
There were two sets of footsteps, not one. Someone was with Simms. The toe of a boot nudged his head up. He saw gold hair, not much longer than his own. Major Brand! It caught the cell's wan light and glowed. Then Riki's dream rushed back and for a heart-stopping moment it was Iason there, looking down at him.
"Stand up."
Riki got to his feet.
The Blondie's gaze raked over him, freezing where it touched. Brand was angry about something, very angry. Riki stayed still, heart thumping. It couldn't be anything he'd done. He'd been in this cell since his ill-fated escape attempt. Not that his innocence would save him if the Blondie was angry enough. You didn't need an excuse to beat on a mongrel.
Both men looked grim. Simms said defensively. "Sir, I still don't think this is necessary. No one has been near him since the incident except me. Jor's death might have been a routine robbery..."
Brand cut him off with a brief chopping motion. "Get him ready."
Simms, clearly furious, hauled Riki around and cuffed the mongrel's wrists behind him. There was a steel collar, too, attached to a length of chain. Then Simm's took a black hood and pulled it over Riki's head, cutting off all light. The prisoner fought the initial leap of panic, but the material seemed to allow oxygen to pass freely.
They took him from the cell, stumbling in his blindness. There were stairs. He fell again and again on the way up, unable to break his fall with his hands. Simms laughed, but finally one of them took him by the arm and half-carried him along.
Riki knew when they were outside by the chill wind that flailed at him. It had been cold inside, but this had the bite of frost in it. Teeth chattering, he was dragged after the Templars, bare feet numbing quickly on icy stone. They walked and walked. He stubbed his toes bloody on unseen obstacles, but got no sympathy other than a cuff to the head or a yank on the collar.
Finally – "Step up," someone said. He stepped and almost missed the stair.
Warm air rushed around him, so welcome that his knees nearly gave out. They expected him to keep going, so he did. He heard elevator doors open. An impatient shove sent him reeling forward. The doors whooshed closed. At last, thankfully, the hood came off.
Riki met the Blondie's cold stare and felt chilled all over again. The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Brand appropriated Riki's chain. "I'll take it from here," he said, pulling Riki out into the corridor. The elevator doors closed on Simms. Riki was alone with the Blondie.
There were only two doors in the long corridor. Brand input a code beside one, hiding it from Riki with his body. The door opened and Riki was tugged through.
Beyond lay a small parlor. There were no windows, but plenty of lamps. Judging from the length of the elevator ride, they were high up in the building, probably the top floor. Was this place in the middle of the Fortress or near the wall someplace?
They were not alone. A breathtakingly lovely youth stood staring at them, his arms full of flowers. Pet.
Brand yanked hard on the chain, bringing Riki close. One lean, strong hand closed tightly around his arm, holding him still.
"This is the one," Brand told the pet shortly. "Is the room ready?"
"Yes, master," replied the boy, eyes drifting over Riki with horrified fascination. "The workers just left."
The Blondie started forward again. Riki had a confused impression of an apartment filled with low, narrow hallways and tiny rooms, dark and over-furnished, filled with the subtle fragrance of flowers. They went through a tiny kitchen, down a short hall to an open doorway. The boy hurried on inside in front of them.
No. The door wasn't open. Riki saw the small lasers lining the door frame. A force-door. Chain-cable was attached to a heavy steel ring embedded in the middle of the floor. No easy way out.
Was this to be his new home? Why? What had happened? Did it have something to do with the murdered Jor, whoever he was?
The Blondie pushed Riki over to the bed. "Els!"
The slight young pet picked up the chain and approached warily, dropping to crouch at their feet. There was a fetter on the end that he locked around Riki's ankle before hastily withdrawing. Brand pointed to the bed. "Lie down. On your back."
There was something in the Blondie's hand. Riki saw what it was and his heart started pounding. "I'm not yours," he said through tight lips, not moving. "You have no..."
He never finished, Brand moved that fast. The blow knocked Riki back onto the mattress. Through the ringing in his ears, Riki heard the Blondie's voice, harsh, commanding the pet to help hold him down.
Riki struggled, even knowing he couldn't win and that Brand would likely make him pay for it in pain and humiliation. He kicked, heel driving into a soft abdomen, and heard a choked cry. Fingernails raked his skin. Someone pulled his hair, hard. He swore, thrashing wildly. Then another blow connected with his aching jaw and left him dazed, leaching the strength from his limbs. Dizzy, he felt the familiar, cold constriction of the pet ring close around his cock and he was released.
Sick at heart, he rolled onto his side and stared at his tormenters as they stood several feet from the bed. The boy was red-faced, clutching his belly. He scowled and Brand, pale hair tousled from the struggle, wore a grim smile. Then the Blondie moved forward and bent over Riki again. The shackles and collar were removed. "Go," Brand said to the pet. "Leave us."
Aching, Riki lay still until the boy's footsteps had died away. Then he sat up, watching the Blondie warily. "Why?" he asked. "You can't possibly want me for a pet. Why'd you bring me here? And why put this thing on me?"
"Want you? Don't insult me," replied Brand shortly. "Unlike your master, I'm not attracted to gutter trash. My superiors have ordered that you be kept here to insure Mink's cooperation. I intend to carry out those orders. That is not merely a pet ring, it's a disciplinary device. I hear you underwent training, so you know what that means. If you try my temper in any way, I will activate its pain transmitters. I'll tolerate no more defiance from you."
"Iason?" Riki barely heard the rest of the threats. "Cooperation? For what?"
Brand let his gaze drift over his naked prisoner and Riki felt himself grow warm under that regard.
"Does he talk to you, mongrel, or just fuck you?"
Riki clenched his teeth and didn't answer. After a moment, Brand went on. "He's been sent to find Raoul Am. If he fails – or refuses – your life is forfeit."
"R-Raoul? But why?"
"Raoul has apparently gone insane. Maybe it's a side effect of fornicating with mongrels." Brand's expression was scornful. "He's gathered a small army of scum and has been attacking police and military outposts, stealing weapons."
Riki heard this with shock. Had Iason known? If so, why hadn't he told Riki?
"But why send Iason? Why doesn't Jupiter send the Templars? Isn't that what you're for?"
It was absolutely the wrong question. Brand's jaw tightened and Riki screamed, hands going to his cock as waves of agony pulsed up from his groin. When they died away, he found that he'd slipped off the bed and was huddled on the floor beside it, nose inches from the old tiles.
"Consider that a demonstration," came the soft warning from above. "And know this, dog. Your comfort means nothing to me. Pray that it means something to your master!"
Then he was gone, leaving thick silence behind. Shaking in the aftermath of the ring's assault, Riki tried to gather his scattered wits. Slowly, aching, he dragged himself back up on the bed. There was a thin blanket folded at the head of it. He curled up on the mattress and pulled the blanket to his chin. Gradually, the painful tension in his muscles eased.
When Raoul Am had vanished into the Wasteland, Riki knew without being told that Iason had lost his best friend. On the few occasions when the subject came up between them, he could not fail to notice the sorrow that lurked in those blue eyes or the melancholy silences that lingered afterwards. He'd learned to leave the subject of Raoul alone. Now he wished he hadn't.
But whether or not Raoul had indeed lost his mind, it still didn't answer a greater question. Would Iason do it? Riki pulled the blanket over his head, squeezing his eyes shut. The question sat like a lump of black ice in his soul. Did Iason Mink love his mongrel enough to betray his best friend or had Jupiter finally exacted a price for Riki that the Blondie would not or could not pay?
Draco was awake before sun-up, dressed and ready for his breakfast. Els stumbled around the antiquated cooker, muttering. He brought Draco coffee and warm porridge, then pulled out the chair opposite and poked at his own breakfast, yawning.
"I'm going to the office and work on the staff records and deployment schedules," Draco said. "After that, I have an introductory lecture to give. I'll be back after that."
"Yes, sir."
"Do you need anything?"
Els colored faintly. "Not really, sir."
"Els?"
"I – I'm almost out of sketching paper. If it's all right with you, could I have more?"
"I'll have my secretary order you some. Send the details to him." Draco finished off his coffee and rose.
"Can I go outside, sir?"
"No."
The boy's face fell. Draco felt a twinge of regret, but there was only one other pet on the entire base. He remembered his own days as a cadet all too well.
"Yes, sir." Disappointment was plain on that open countenance. Draco sighed.
"It's for your own safety," he said. "Maybe later."
"Yes, sir!" Irrepressible, the smile reappeared and the boy ran off, returning with Draco's coat. He helped Draco into it, all the while chattering artlessly. Should they order more flowers? Would it be terribly expensive to install just one tiny little holo-wall? And that plant with the big round leaves? He'd read that didn't like direct sunlight, so maybe he should move it across the room. Was that okay? Draco let the young voice wash over him and thought suddenly how glad he was that he'd brought Els to Amoi.
The boy was always a charming sight in the morning, rosy hair tousled, mouth still soft and drowsy. Inexplicably, Draco remembered the mongrel and Iason Mink. Mink wouldn't even hesitate to lean down and kiss that mouth. Draco looked away. He wasn't Mink. Mink was the problem. Draco was the solution.
"There should be a man coming back later this morning with some supplies," Draco said. "Check them against my order list. It's on the board. And stay away from the mongrel when I'm not in the apartment."
The pet made a face. Last night obviously still rankled. "Why does he have to be here, sir? Wasn't he already in a cell or something? Why does he have to stink up our apartment?"
Because a member of the Templar Executive Committee is dead. Now Iason Mink knows where his little black-haired whore is hidden and I trust no one in this porous dump.
"He's here," Draco said aloud, "because I want him here. That's all you need to know. Understand?"
"Yes, sir." Els' large blue eyes fell. Draco gave the fine hair a ruffle and left.
In the administration building, heaters labored valiantly to dispel the chill of autumn and thick stone. Ensconced in an office hastily cleared of its former occupant, Draco grappled with the Fortress' deplorable lack of organization. Record-keeping was a joke. Entire blocks of time were unaccounted for, and the log entries could only be described as terse. Records of visitors, of staff coming and going, were almost nonexistent. In addition to the training academy, which was administered separately, the Fortress supported troops and civilian support personnel, mostly clerical and technical workers. So what the hell was everyone doing?
For a moment, discouragement made him actually remember Erba with fondness. Draco shook his head on that folly. Erba had been every bit as bad as this when he'd arrived. No. It had been worse. Erba's disarray had been carefully nurtured by the competing underworld syndicates who had controlled it. This was merely incompetence on a truly stunning scale.
Regardless, he was coming to understand why Jupiter had called him in. If Iason were to appear at the Fortress gates today, he would have little trouble overcoming what pathetic resistance this place was capable of mounting. Maybe the situation was even deliberate. Draco hated thinking like that, but at least one member of the Committee had been in Iason's pocket. Were there more? Were there men on this base who might be waiting to put out the welcome mat in case Mink just happened by with a few dozen mercenaries?
Not a chance, Mink. I'm here and I'm not for sale. I've never been for sale. Remember?
Katze's rooms were spare, minimalist. Iason sat on his former Furniture's couch and watched the slender redhead move around the room, packing, every movement deliberate and unhurried, as streamlined as his surroundings. He talked to Iason now and then, comments and questions – "Should we take medicines?" "I hear water is precious. How much of it do you think we should carry?"
Iason was not fooled. Katze was upset. The apartment might appear austere, but it was spacious and warm, and everything in it was of the highest quality. Iason's patronage kept it safe. The simple, intriguing bits of art that stood infrequently about were masterpieces. He had some of the same artists' works in his own condo and knew to a credit what they cost. The rugs on the gleaming floor were hand-woven. Everything had been arranged with the careful precision of imagination that had attracted Iason to Katze in the first place. It was Katze's haven, this apartment, his sanctuary. He was not happy at the thought of leaving it.
Another reason for Katze's discomfiture sat in the plain black body-pack currently lying across Iason's knee. The pack held five data-disks, heavily encrypted, pulled straight from the red-haired man's personal computer. Katze had been disconcerted to find out that Iason even knew the computer existed. It was gone now. Physically destroyed on Iason's order.
"Appeal to Jupiter," Katze said suddenly. "She must know where he is! They would have had to go to her to get the ring off!"
"She will not speak to me."
"Then go around her. You've done it before. Send some men to bring him back!"
"It's too risky. They almost certainly will expect it and be ready and worse – they've put Draco Brand in charge."
"Who's he?"
"One of the last of the Noble Knights." Iason's mouth crooked into a wry smile. Ah, how the past could come back to haunt one. "One of old General Ko's proteges, respectable, conventional, honorable to a fault. My stooges on the Committee may be trying to play both sides, but Brand will have nothing to do with it. Did you know that Brand has been the Templar's administrator on Erba?"
Katze's eyes widened and he whistled softly. "The Iron Fist of Erba?"
"Correct. He single-handedly turned that cesspool into the safest, most productive of all the Outer Ring mining stations. Unlike some others in the Templars, he wouldn't tolerate an attempt to remove Riki by force – especially by me."
"You two have a history?" Katze lifted his eyebrows.
"A few years ago, he was up for promotion. If successful, he would have been in charge of investigating, among other things, the black market in pets."
Katze's eyes widened.
"Had he assumed the post, it would have been inconvenient."
"It would, indeed. So you made sure he lost to Jor."
Iason nodded, pretending an indifference he did not actually feel. That had been a nasty scene. Brand was that rarest of commodities among the upper castes of Amoi, a man of principle. He'd expected that his organization live up to those same standards. There was nothing quite so destructive as righteous rage.
"Brand filed a grievance, made some accusations and, in short, brought attention to a status quo that the Council would have preferred remain overlooked. The Erba post was dumped on him in retaliation. It's not inconceivable that he would kill Riki rather than have me take him back by force."
"You do mean to betray Raoul, don't you?" Katze said finally. "The Templars have you between a rock and a hard place."
Iason met Katze's faintly disapproving look with a dangerous smile. "You disappoint me, Katze. I thought you knew me better than that."
Katze's eyes fell and his mouth tightened. Without a word, he turned and finished packing.