The Holocaust Piano
by Phaedra7veils
Chapter 4: Unexpected
Katze had fallen asleep during the ride from the medical facility to Eos Tower and, from the dance under his eyelids, had begun dreaming. The accelerated breaths, strangled sounds and twitches of his lips left Raoul with no doubt that his dream was a disturbing one. He wondered what repressed desires or experiential imprint was being communicated so harshly.
It seemed that they had both undergone a renaissance of late. Raoul found Katze's body had not only regenerated and healed completely, but was as fertile and easily aroused as a teenaged boy's. He had also heeded Katze's covert suggestion to test himself and the results unnerved him, for he had always been sterile. So his wasn't a mere healing or regeneration. It was an entirely new body, one that was wholly strange to him.
Now it seemed that he was about to face the full onslaught of his own concupiscence without the wisdom and perspective that prior experience would lend. Raoul had felt the tug of his response to Katze's arousal at the clinic, the heady mix of shame and excitement, but Blondies do not indulge in sex. He hoped his maturity and resolve was strong enough, but from the way his body reacted to these beguiling thoughts, he was going to have a royal battle.
In his sessions of mental congress with Jupiter, Raoul flashed through that vast storehouse of memories into Amoi's origins when women were too scarce, too physically vulnerable to survive the colony's harsh environment. They had died from disease, starvation, dehydration, in childbirth and violence. Men fought over the few who remained. The men who maintained Jupiter were frequently slaughtered, and the few who escaped death had no offspring to inherit their legacies. In that frontier, brothels and white slavery replaced marriages and free love. As hindrances to the sex trade, human embryos were aborted, infants were abandoned. Children, if they survived, showed all the trauma of their struggle in their personalities, regressing further into brutality and depravity in each subsequent generation.
With immutable A to B logic, Jupiter concluded that fertility and the hormones it generated were the source of all atrocity; that the drive to impregnate women drove men mad; that power over insemination, gestation and birth must be removed from humanity; that the species was inherently flawed and either must be perfected through careful genetic selection, or eliminated entirely. Unable to comprehend the transcendent subtleties of human consciousness—love, sacrifice, courage—Jupiter's first moment of sentience was a cry of acute pain and madness. Then It took over the entire planet and redesigned its destiny.
From all this, Raoul understood why so few women were permitted to live in their society, why the Elite had been created as sterile genetic manipulations, why sexual expression was sublimated in the highest levels of their hierarchy, why the brothels and pet auctions were the planet's economic mainstays all under Jupiter's careful scrutiny and control. This was a desert planet with shallow seas that had pretty much defeated the terraforming project. Everything necessary for survival had to be imported. The only commodity they could trade was human life itself.
Although he understood all the whys and wherefores of this with perfect logic, Raoul found himself in unfamiliar terrain with his new emotions and sensations. Firstly, there was his unrequited and repressed passion for Iason, then this new, heightened sense of power that came gift-wrapped with Katze's attraction to him and, lastly, his own sexual excitement and curiosity. He was no longer convinced of Jupiter's infallibility, but he couldn't just jump Katze. He couldn't mimic Iason; the consequences were too potentially catastrophic.
Besides, Katze was a Mongrel. If Raoul were to fall into depravity, at the very minimum, it should be over an Elite.
He picked up his phone and, with considerable irritation, punched in Hilarion Fyss' code again.
"My apologies, Lord Am," Kosai, the Furniture, replied. "As when you called earlier, my Master still has not returned home from last night."
"Have him call me the moment you see or hear him," Raoul repeated, disconnecting the call with a flick of his wrist, and thankful that he insisted Katze move in with him after all.
"Paviter," he pressed a button and paged the Car, "we may be in for a rough reception."
"I've already called ahead for a weapons and explosives sweep, sir."
Trained bodyguards and chauffeurs, Cars were a recent innovation in the status-hungry Elite society. Raoul had gone along with the new fashion, although he had more faith in computerized sensors, plasma shields and the vehicle's automated driving program. The extra set of human eyes and ears couldn't hurt. At this moment, he was very happy with that decision.
Katze woke up startled and disoriented. He noticed Raoul's fascinated expression and straightened his spine then touched his fingers to the corners of his mouth, as though to ensure it was dry and clean.
"Have you been dreaming much lately?" Raoul asked.
From his expression, it was clear Katze thought the question was odd.
"Haven't noticed any particular change in the number," he answered, "so much as I remember them now after I wake up. Never happened before."
"They agitate you." Raoul explained. "From the rate of your breathing and the perspiration on your forehead, I would say that your pulse has leapt about fifteen per cent more than average."
"Yes, thank you for pointing that out." Katze let dryness flatten his voice, making the point that Raoul thought he wasn't even aware of his own bodily reactions, which—given that morning's events—was probably true. "For some strange reason, I found this dream a nightmare."
Raoul's eyes narrowed enough to convey his disapproval.
Katze shrugged. He hadn't ask to be brought to Eos. Obviously, he found the whole situation disturbing.
"So your dream wouldn't normally upset you," Raoul prompted.
"Let's just say the entire borough of Ceres had become a flowering and fruitful oasis. What could be so bad that Ceres would look so beautiful in comparison? That's—unsettling."
Raoul straightened, his attention riveted. "No, that's very interesting."
"You think that it's interesting how a dream which should be idyllic and pleasant fills me with dread?"
"Tell me about the images."
"Let's see: verdant hills and terraces, lush vegetation, pleasant apartments and outdoor spaces designed for peace and privacy, fountains, statuary, blossoms raining down all these petals situated next to trees covered with ripe peaches and vines bursting with grapes—like that would ever happen. And it went on forever. Oh, and there was this voice—well, it was my voice actually, speaking in my mind and it said, "Ceres, in her harvest aspect" as though that was some sort of glorious pronouncement or big prophecy."
"Your own voice speaking to you in your mind?" Raoul double-checked. He distinctly remembered Iason's voice resounding in his own mind, and this experience seemed important.
"Yeah, except the place was nothing like Ceres. It was not even like Tanagura or any of its precincts. I would be willing to bet that incredible place can't be found anywhere on Amoi, unless it's along the coast somewhere."
"No, I'm sure it isn't. I know it isn't. It's a small planet, and I've seem most of it."
"Right. I figure after the holostream we watched earlier from Thallë, Ceres would look like a paradise."
Raoul frowned, lacing his fingers over the bridge of his nose while he thought. "It may be a mistake to interpret the dream so patently. I realize it is your dream, but there may be other influences at work."
"Such as?"
"Before you awoke, I had been thinking about the general failure of the Amoi terraforming project."
"What do you mean, failure? We live here. We're humans."
"True, but we are completely dependent on off-world imports. I had been thinking the terraforming project might be worth revisiting."
There was no response. Anything a Mongrel might say to an Elite about improving the quality of life on Amoi would likely be interpreted as sedition. Besides, Raoul was aware as Katze that Jupiter was the main reason for the arrested efforts to terraform the colony. As humans were Amoi's commodity, the computer needed them, but had ample reason to keep their population destabilized through the severity of the planet's environment. Raoul was pretty sure that Katze left teethmarks on his tongue biting off his reply and he was sorry for it; he wanted the Mongrel to feel at liberty to speak frankly to him.
"What aren't you telling me about your dream?" He prodded further.
Katze's face, frozen carefully void of expression, betrayed him. Raoul looked him straight in the eye. Finally, the Mongrel gave it up.
"I was outside of my own body in the dream, watching myself smoke a cigarette, with my arms folded across my chest in a very guarded fashion. And my dream-self was looking back at my observer-self with this wariness."
It was unusual, but not enough to explain the man's reactions.
"Hmm, and? What else?"
"You were there, also, standing right beside my dream-self, with your—with your–" Katze flinched. Raoul recognized the same expression of discomfort from the laboratory.
"With my–?"
"–your right arm slung over my shoulder protectively. You seemed to be dressed more formally than usual."
"I see. You noticed my clothing?" Raoul frowned again, thinking of Iason's caution regarding his Elite costume.
"Yes, you wore a dark blue tail-coat with gold trim and–"
"No, that's fine. You don't have to describe what I wore. I just find it intriguing."
"Because?"
"The dreamworld seems very interested in what I wear."
"That's the dreamworld for you," Katze replied dryly. "All about you!"
"Of course," Raoul smiled sardonically. "You seem doubtful that dreams can extend beyond the strictly personal."
"You mean, where your thoughts about the Amoi terraforming projects lead to me dreaming about a heavenly orchard? Yeah, that sort of thing seems stretched to me."
"Alright, but I must ask you: How do you know what a lush, verdant paradise looks like? Where have you ever seen one?"
Katze stumbled over his thoughts. He tried to recall books and databases, but nothing leapt to mind. The only image he could recall was a photograph of earth stored in Jupiter's library files, the original of which was so old and faded, there was nothing but the vaguest impression of vegetation on it. "Okay, you got me. Where would I get an image like that?"
"It's an ancient memory of Earth which seems to affect every native human on Amoi. I've done enough mind-wiping to know."
"Can I ask you something?" The man shook his red fringe over his smooth cheek, an old habit. "Why are you so anxious to protect me all of a sudden?"
Raoul was surprised at the question. "I'm not inhuman."
Katze looked skeptical.
"Besides, you've turned out to be surprisingly useful."
That, he appeared to believe.
"None of the information you've given me seems to relate to the assignment you were given, but the Federation's cover-up on Thallë is an important matter."
The Car had now parked and, scanning the garage for signs of trouble or assassins, opened the door, and said, "All clear."
"The elevator?" Raoul asked him.
"Secure. First thing we checked."
"Excellent. Besides, Katze," he turned his attention back to the Mongrel as they left the vehicle, "since we parted company last night, I have not been able to contact Hilarion Fyss."
"It can't be six o'clock in the morning yet. He's probably dead to the world," Katze stifled a yawn. "Doesn't anyone in Eos ever sleep? I certainly need to."
No response. Katze wasn't thinking clearly. Nobody would fail to answer the First Blondie's summons.
"Tibór has prepared your place in the Pets' room. I trust you will find it adequate."
That caught his attention. He looked like having his throat cut by an assassin would be preferable to rooming with Pets.
A sly smile twitched over Raoul's jaw. As they entered his private elevator, he withdrew a jewel box from his pocket and handed it over.
"This is a modified Pet earring. The tracking mechanism is its most important feature, but it is also a voice transmitter and receiver, and monitors your pulse. If something happens to you, I will know about it instantly. You have been granted special security clearance until I have no further requirement of your services. I don't want you taking risks, so your access is restricted to areas of my apartment and—well, I'm not comfortable with letting you roam around the public sections of the Tower yet. It would attract too much attention."
"I can't conduct my business from Eos Central. In my line of work, it's an insurmountable obstacle." Katze ran his thumb over the attractive burnished surface of the tiny silver clip. "Besides it's very easy to slice off an ear."
"Better that, than a wrist or a–" Raoul chose not to finish that sentence.
"Does it have a pet-training feature built in, too?" Katze spat.
"They all come with that feature, Katze. That doesn't mean I will use it."
Katze shook his head bitterly, but Raoul knew that the man would appreciate the subtlety of this jewellery, so unlike the usual pet-rings which loudly proclaimed a master's ownership. With a lock of hair tucked over it, no one else would have to know.
He reached over, plucked the earring from Katze's fingers, and snapped it over the shell of his ear without further ado. The metal punctured his skin and cartilage and sealed shut. There was no way it could be removed by anyone besides Raoul without tearing the ear.
"Your comm-link signals are going to bounce off multiple satellites and communication towers. No one will be able to track your location. If you must leave for any reason, we will design a security protocol exclusively for that event. Do you understand, Katze?"
Katze looked disturbed.
Raoul asked, "What is it?"
"Well, you must know that most of the people I deal with–"
"–are unsavoury, yes."
"–are criminals, Raoul, wanted by the police, the Federation, and about half the planetary governments around here. They aren't just 'not-nice'; they are the scum of the solar system. And I have to be able to deal with them freely."
Raoul could almost hear the man's unspoken words: he had to deal with them without interference, damn it!—without compromising their anonymity, without some massive Elite plutocrat breathing down his neck. Why was this so hard for the Blondie to understand?
"The guy who gave me this holostream, for example—well, we're still members of the Federation, aren't we?"
Raoul chuckled. "Technically, yes, but you're of no use dead. Not to the Syndicate. Not even to the Federation."
"But I can't have a bunch of —I can't have a bunch of Pets looking over my shoulders all the time."
"Ah-hah. Cross that bridge when you come to it. I assume you want personal items brought to Eos?"
"I've improvised some security features for my suite and computer work station."
"Give me the access codes and disarmament procedures."
Katze sighed. "If I'm in so much danger, what's to keep my enemies from tracking the people you send to clean out my place?"
"I don't believe you've met my Car, Katze. Paviter is the most discreet security detail in Eos. I didn't just purchase him for his pretty face."
Paviter turned away from the control panel and gave him a little bow.
Katze acknowledged the Car. Without further argument, he quietly explained how to find and disarm his security systems.
When the doors to Raoul's suite opened, they were greeted by Tibór. After they stepped out, Paviter departed with the descending elevator. Katze was shown to his room by the Furniture.
Raoul walked into his open living area and helped himself to a drink. He smiled. About now, Katze would be discovering that there were no more Pets in his suite.
Drink in hand, his eyes fell on the massive instrument that had come into his life. It was a premature to conclude that the pianoforte was, in some way, related to the strange bouts of fatigue and dream-states that had affected him or the healing of Katze's scar. Yet the only unusual event they had both shared involved touching its keys.
Before he was willing to risk creating a fallacy on such narrow premises, it seemed that he would also have to collect evidence from Hilarion. This necessitated asking the Blue Elite if something odd had happened to him personally since first laying his hands on the instrument. Raoul seriously doubted whether Hilarion would consider anything odd. The fine arts, his speciality, threw him into peculiar company and events as a matter of course. It had never even occurred to him to suspect the piano seller's hasty retreat as peculiar.
The ambient light around the piano wasn't the best for close inspection. Then, he decided the pianoforte was in the wrong place for a proper inspection and decided to move it closer to the windows where there would be more natural light. He de-activated the containment field, reached over, put his massive arms against the bright polished surface and tried to roll the instrument across the floor, pushing with his considerable strength. It would not budge, not even when he tried a second time with more force.
He inspected the castors, which seemed to be fine. In the end, he set his back against the instrument and gave it an almighty heave. He tried shoving it a little harder, but it remained stationary. Frustrated, he turned and hefted his shoulders against the side, putting all his massive strength into it. He heaved with a huge groan and pushed, and broke into a sweat, but nothing happened. The confounded thing remained immobile, but he heard sharp retorts as though cannon were fired. This was followed by the thrumming of the keyboard as the lid fell shut.
Had he broken the thing?
It didn't show any damage.
He settled in to try again, but at the sound of commotion, both Tibór and Katze rushed into the room.
"Raoul, stop!" Katze ran up to him. "You've split your floor. You're going to damage yourself."
Raoul stopped pushing and stared in disbelief. Sure enough, the granite slabs of his living room floor had massive fissures running across them. The piano still hadn't moved; but the building was starting to crumble under the force of his strength. It seemed that it had attached itself to the building. He and Katze both leaned down to take a closer look at the instrument's legs, and there were massive fibres running over the castors and into the floor, as though it had sent down roots.
In that moment, Raoul became unusually aware of Katze, the pungent fragrance of anise and cigarettes that lingered on his clothes, the flame of his hair against the pallor of his skin, his golden eyes like the flesh of overripe plums, his slender physique, the soft wool of his sweater. From the way the Mongrel froze, it appeared that he came to the same realization and that his body had reacted instantly and viscerally to Raoul's beauty and display of raw, physical power.
"Leave us!" The Blondie commanded his Furniture in a low, guttural voice, and Tibór immediately left, shutting the door behind him. Raoul stepped toward Katze, closing the distance between them, his eyes heavy-lidded and predatorial.
Katze misinterpreted Raoul's advance, fearful that he had offended his host.
"I'm sorry, Raoul." He stammered, apologizing. "I didn't intend to–"
But Raoul slipped a hand behind his head, running his fingers through the glossy hair, and the other behind the small of Katze's back, then yanked the Mongrel toward him and sealed his lips with his own. Katze was too shocked to react at first, except to push feebly against the Blondie's beautifully sculpted torso. Raoul quelled this rebellion by pushing him onto the top of the piano and sliding over, a knee between his thighs, trapping him between his arms before the slighter man could think to wriggle free.
Intuitively, Raoul bit Katze's lower lip, drawing it through his teeth, then pushed his tongue into his mouth. At this new invasion, Katze moaned and Raoul felt all the resistance drain from him. Both of them could feel each other's erections bulging against the restrictive cloth of their trousers, both felt the desperate need to free themselves from these constraints, but neither desired to break off the battle of their lips and teeth and tongues. Raoul felt Katze's hands tangle in his hair.
Finally he tore his mouth away long enough to grab the hem of Katze's sweater and wrestle it over the man's head. His skin seemed translucent, like marble, and looked cool, but felt warm and soft to the touch. The Elite's formal costume was a nuisance. The outer tailcoat was easily discarded, but both he and Katze struggled to unweave the cravat and unbutton the dress shirt, Raoul growling like a lion with his teeth fixed in the neck of an exotic red and white zebra. Between them, they only managed to bare his chest and muscular abdomen before abandoning the attempt altogether, so immediate was the urge to close their embrace. Their naked chests smashed together, damp with perspiration.
Katze rolled his hips, rubbing them against Raoul's erection, nearly sobbing with the intensity of resurrected sensuality throughout his body. The sensation was so electric that Raoul couldn't tell if it burnt or froze. He only knew that he had to grind his own cock against the other man and didn't even want to break free long enough to loosen their pants. So intent were they on rubbing their hips against each other, that they didn't notice how their bodies inched across the piano's glossy surface, until Katze's head slipped over the far edge. This time, Raoul really attached his mouth to the exposed flesh, sucking at the skin and leaving a trail of teethmarks.
Now the urge to feel their nakedness was the most overpowering compulsion. Raoul ran his hands down the length of Katze's torso, pulling the man back so that his head and neck were fully supported, and continuing until he reached his belt. Katze was unbuckled, unbuttoned and unzipped so quickly that it didn't register until the naked skin of his cock touched Raoul's. The golden man bucked his hips in a response so ferocious, so heated—once, twice, five or six times that, with a shout of triumph, Katze came.
In the succession of erratic afterstrokes, Raoul arched his back and, with a shudder that ran the length of his body, released his seed onto Katze's stomach, then collapsed. They lay, heavy and exhausted, sucking in great mouthfuls of air, purged of thought and cleansed of all but the most tranquil feelings and surprise.
Quite a lot of surprise, as it turned out. After Raoul recovered enough to pull himself off Katze, he reclined on one arm, tossed his hair over shoulder, and stared intently at Katze's face. He was so pleased he was unable not to grin—a tentative, lopsided grin that looked like it was arguing with itself—and with such a bewildered and wide-eyed amazement that the other man burst into laughter.
"I—erm, never expected that to happen," was the only thing the Blondie could think of to say.
"No!" Katze chuckled and, then, grinned back, evidently every bit pleased as Raoul.
"Are you alright? I didn't break anything when I—er, pounced on you, did I?"
"I'm fine, Raoul. I feel terrific. Best ever, in fact."
"Is that right?" And the grin turned into a straightforward smile. "The washroom is through that door over there if you want to clean up."
Katze accepted the hand up. Before he left, Raoul was compelled to say, "I really was concerned about your safety. That's why I invited you to stay, not so I could–"
"I know. I'm completely cool with what happened. In fact, I'm much happier it worked out like this. Thankyou."
"You're welcome, and —and I thank you, Katze."
After the Mongrel left, Raoul walked over to his bedroom door and used the ensuite to clean himself up. He kept shaking his head, wondering what had gotten into him. When he returned, it was to find Tibór in a state.
"Paviter has found something which will concern you, Lord Am."
Raoul nodded and followed Tibór to the front vestibule where he found Paviter holding the unconscious Hilarion Fyss. The Sapphire Elite's face was ghostly white, with trails of dried blood running along his hairline, past his temples and down his neck. Raoul immediately knelt beside the man, and started to time his pulse.
"What happened? Where did you find him?"
"In the second level of the parking garage," the Car explained. "He had been dropped into an incineration chute, but became wedged, fortunately. I found him during the second sweep, and brought him here for your attention first, since your medical skills–"
"Say no more. I understand. However, he needs more than my care right now. Call the shock-trauma medics." Raoul knelt back on his haunches. "So he was attacked right in Eos Tower. Jupiter will not be pleased."
The Holocaust Piano – chapter 3 << >> The Holocaust Piano – chapter 5.1