Wasteland
by Becca Abbott
Part 4
Iason couldn't sleep. He sat on the edge of the bed and thought about the dead pet and Selig. Katze had sworn the boy had checked out – had shown Iason all the examination data. Whatever explosive had been used was one Amoi's scientists knew absolutely nothing about. The evil genius of it made his skin crawl,
Mumbling from behind him made him turn. Riki was sprawled across the sheets, arms wrapped around a pillow. In sleep, he looked like the seventeen-year-old Iason had stolen from the streets four years ago. Beautiful.
At the moment, Riki seemed perfectly content to be in Eos with Iason, but the Blondie didn't expect that to last. Riki didn't remember the choice he'd made, didn't remember dying in Iason's arms. The young mongrel's natural aggression and independence would resurface when his uncertainty faded. Iason considered Jupiter's suggestion of drugging Riki and dismissed it again. Drugged pets were common enough, but Iason didn't like their unfocused gaze and sluggish responses.
He could give Riki another job, something to keep the restlessness at bay. Maybe something that required the mongrel to use the very sharp intellect Iason knew he possessed. Last time, having him drive a forklift had been a waste of all but the fine muscles.
"Iason?" Slurred with sleep, Riki's words drew Iason out of his preoccupation. The Blondie leaned over and kissed the youth. He watched Riki smile before drifting once more into slumber.
The Blondie got up, careful not to disturb his lover, and walked naked through the condo to the tall windows. Sunrise gilded the towers of Midas, sent long rays slanting down into the canyon-like streets. He thought again about the dead pet and Elite. Katze's report lay on his desk in his office, read and re-read, studied for clues to the incomprehensible murder. There was only one – the pet. He had been one of a hijacked shipment, recovered unharmed. Looking back on it, Iason knew he should have suspected something.
For a moment, the tranquil cityscape vanished and he saw the photographs of the scene, the blood-spattered walls, the remains of two humans, unrecognizable as such in the ruined luxury of the Elite's condo. Why? Selig was powerful, but not extraordinarily so. He had no enemies of any importance. Iason could not comprehend such wanton and cruel destruction.
Witnesses had told of a roadblock and a large freight truck in the general time and place of the hijacking, but their descriptions conflicted. The truck itself had vanished. Two of the witnesses and sworn that the driver of the truck had been a woman. A woman. That was unusual, especially in that part of town.
Later, disliking his own company, Iason woke Riki and they had breakfast together on the terrace. They sat, looking out over Midas and distant Ceres to the even more distant sea. Iason thought about it again. A woman.
"You had a mother," Iason said suddenly. "Do you remember her?"
Riki's eyes widened slightly. He set down his fork. "A little," he said. "My father couldn't hold onto her. Another man fought him for her and he died. The victor took my mother and my little sister."
"Not you?"
Riki shrugged, but there was lingering pain there, Iason could see it.
"He wanted his own sons."
Iason tried to imagine growing up alone in Ceres dangerous streets. "Was she gentle?"
"I – yes. I think so. I don't remember very well."
Women were supposed to be gentle. Iason had read about it. Jupiter said women were not given to violence. No doubt the hijacking witnesses were mistaken.
"Were you ever a child?" Riki asked.
Iason blinked. "Yes," he said. "Of course."
Riki shrugged. "I thought maybe you came into the world full grown."
"No," Iason replied, faintly amused.
"What was it like, growing up as an Elite?"
Iason thought about the bright, sunlit rooms of his school, minimally furnished, almost empty. He thought about the relentless silence broken only by the whisper of the learning tapes in his head. "We were fed, clothed and educated," he said finally.
"No one to hold you either, eh?"
Blue eyes narrowing sharply, Iason looked back into the clear, fearless gaze of his pet. "Do you feel sorry for me?" he asked coldly.
"Yes," Riki said. He looked away at the city and the sunrise. "I feel sorry for us both."
The doctor came and went. Guy was vaguely aware of his visit, especially when the man touched and prodded somewhere painful. Even then, he kept his misery between his teeth, thinking in some dim, idiotic way that if he was very quiet and did not move, Raoul would forget about him.
Medicine eased him from his hell of pain and confusion into sleep. For a time, he dwelled in a place halfway between waking and complete unconsciousness. A day passed, maybe two. Guy didn't know. He only knew that he finally opened his eyes and they stayed open.
Experimentally, Guy sat up. He was sore, but it wasn't nearly as bad as before. For a moment, he sat, looking around the luxurious room, then gingerly slid from the bed to stand, unsteady, beside it. He looked down and his heart faltered.
His nipples were still swollen and – they were pierced with rings. He was horrified. How many times and places did Raoul intend to mark him? For a second, angry despair tightened Guy's throat. Without meaning to, he lifted a hand and touched the small silver circles. There was a twinge he felt straight to his groin.
"It pleases me to see them on you," came a deep voice from the doorway.
Guy's heart stumbled. He sat back heavily on the bed, unable to move or speak as Raoul came into the chamber. When the Blondie gave him a gentle shove onto his back, every muscle tensed. Heart in his mouth, Guy closed his eyes and opened his legs. It was hard to breathe.
There was only one now, he told himself in dim panic, only one to use him, to hurt him. Only one.
Nothing happened. He opened his eyes. Raoul was staring at him, a strange expression on that handsome face. Then the Blondie reached down and seized his wrist, pulling Guy out of the bed to stand once again. Guy was still, rigid and trembling, but Raoul let him go at once.
"Bathe," the Blondie ordered quietly. "Shave and get something to eat. Use the day to rest. I'll return tonight. Be ready then to please me."
He was gone after that, leaving Guy with his head spinning and relief so profound he was nearly sick with it. A reprieve. Alone until tonight. His heartbeat eased.
Of course he tried the door, but it didn't budge. Oh, well. He'd expected that. Guy spent time at the tall windows looking outside. There were balconies running the length of the condo, but they, too, were off limits. After a while, he got tired of looking at a world he could not touch and went to do what Raoul had ordered.
Most of the day he slept, or lay on the floor of the big living room, staring up at the ceiling, gingerly fingering the silver in his nipples. He was getting used to being naked. As the sun began to slide behind the building and shadows to gather at the edges of the room, he stirred himself. He went back to the bathroom and he was there, combing his hair, when Raoul appeared.
Their eyes met in the mirror. The comb dropped from frozen fingers. Guy whirled to face the Blondie, adrenaline shooting through his veins. Bright blue eyes rested on the fallen comb, then lifted back to his face. Guy found he could not meet them and, arms tight around himself, turned his head.
"Put your arms down," came the soft command. "I would look at you."
It took strength to obey, to stand and watch as the Blondie's gaze drifted up and down the length of him. To his shock, the examination heated his skin and made his mouth suddenly dry. He thought about those long, fine fingers stroking, stroking... Desperately, Guy wrenched his mind from those thoughts, but it was too late.
"Well, well." Raoul crossed the bathroom in three long strides, catching Guy and pulling the mongrel hard against him. Guy's head fell back. It seemed his lips parted of their own accord and were fiercely claimed. His entire body, traitorous, leapt in response. He gasped, held securely in those powerful arms. Nipples and groin ached with dull persistence. When Raoul's hand found its way between his legs, he sighed, eyes drifting shut.
"Magnificent," whispered Raoul. He kissed Guy again, his fingers tightening around Guy's stiffening shaft. Guy pushed helplessly against the strong grip, his moan lost in the Blondie's mouth. Abruptly, he was released and stood, trembling, breathing hard, his head spinning. The next moment pain exploded in white brilliance as the Blondie hit him, knocking him to the floor.
"No!" Raoul said harshly, his own breath coming quick and fast. "NO!" And he whirled and was gone.
Another Elite was dead, found face down in a private room in one of Midas' more exclusive salons. The door was locked, the windows unbreached. There was no sign of forced entry, only a Blondie with his throat slit, lying in a pool of his own blood. Iason had known this one – Jason Brandt, from Carpus IV, one of Amoi's border planets. He called Katze.
They met in a small, exclusive restaurant near Mistral Park. "Anything?" Iason asked.
Katze shrugged and lit a cigarette. "Not much," he admitted. "The victims had little in common beyond their status. Both kept harems, although Brandt preferred women. Brandt, the second victim, was assigned to one of the border planets – Carpus IV."
"He was Jupiter's terminal there," agreed Iason. "He disliked it. Too many foreigners he said."
Katze was silent a moment. His brows drew together. "Selig," he said. "Wasn't he in Customs?"
Iason thought about it. "Smuggling?"
"Possible," Katze allowed with a shrug. Blue smoke trickled from his thin lips. "I haven't noticed an unusual influx of out-system goods on the streets." He didn't look happy. Black market trade was his responsibility in Tanagura. "Can you get me permission to go to Carpus?"
"Of course."