Her own remote lay on the float-a-bed, so she sat down beside it. Konar treated her like a piece of disappearing furniture—she came when he called, then left when he dismissed her. Other than that, she was an integral part of his life. On Hades she sat in on his conferences and private suppers, listened to his troubles, rubbed his temples while he thought, and told him stories about her childhood on New Harmony, attending to Konar's every need while they were together.
Watching him give orders, she tried to tell if Konar meant to die. He looked as vital as ever, his compact bull-like body stripped to the waist, with tattooed dragons, crawling over his naked torso, his most fascinating feature by far. Sometimes Deirdre lost herself in those dragons, following them across his body for hours, forgetting everything else. Each dragon had a story, a successful raid, a ship he captured or commanded; occasionally he told her the stories, the closest he ever came to boasting. Otherwise he was nothing special to look at, with a blunt bald head, alert eyes, ferocious strength, and a genial smile. Except that this nondescript face was infamous, known and feared throughout the Eridani.
Floating above the table top was a 3V display, showing different parts of Tartarus system. Tartarus and Hades hung near the center of the display, along with Hades’ two moons, Minos and Charon. Farther out came the gas giants Cerberus and Persephone. Still farther out, at the extreme edge of the display were Tartarus’ twin companions, two white dwarfs spinning around each other. Seen as tiny sparks of light, the slavers’ situation did not look so bad. Three government cruisers were headed insystem, accompanied by a pair of smaller corvettes. Four slaver ships stood ready to face them—Fafnir, Hiryu, Fukuryu, and Hydra.
Five to four did not seem overwhelming, but the numbers were horribly deceiving. Hydra was the converted colony ship Liberia, helpless in battle. And leading the incoming ships was the Navy light cruiser Atalanta, which outgunned the entire slaver fleet. For once the vastness of space worked against the slavers, giving them nowhere to hide. Abandon Tartarus system, and their ships would be run down in the emptiness of interstellar space. It was win or die. Typically Konar tackled the task head on, telling his captains that he and Fafnir would face Atalanta. “You gentlemen must make do with what is left."
They laughed. Konar wanted Hiryu, Fukuryu, and Hydra to face down two merchant cruisers and the corvettes—a stiff fight, but not half what Konar faced. Konar was using his fabled reputation to finesse the most alarming problem—the Atalanta. If anyone could defeat a Navy cruiser with a converted survey ship, it was Old Snake Nick.
On that light note Konar closed the conference. Hologram captains winked out with their lieutenants, leaving Konar and Hess—the only ones physically aboard the Fafnir. Neither bothered to look at her. Leaning across the virtual table, Hess whispered conspiratorially, “You know there are other ways to do it than diving down their throats."
Konar settled back in his seat, eyeing Hess. Konar was the only person Hess was honest with. Deirdre did not think anyone could lie to Konar. Certainly not her, and probably not Hess. Konar did not bother with galvanic sensors or reading heart rates—having seen so many people saying anything to save themselves, he knew all the “tells” that gave liars away. Smiling grimly, he asked Hess, “How goes the escape pod?"
Hess nodded. “Totally operational. Waiting to be used."
“The pod only carries six,” Konar pointed out.
Hess shrugged. “Whoever thought the hounds would get this far? There was no time to increase capacity. The others would just have to be convinced to carry on without us."
Konar laughed at that. Both of them acted she was not there, casually discussing escapes and betrayals as if Deirdre were part of the float-a-bed. But neither did anything by accident. Hess had his own way of dealing with truth, and probably counted her as dead already. While Konar might want her to know all about the escape plan, to get her hopes up for some purpose known only to him.
And her hopes were up. Way up. Suddenly she might actually live through this nightmare. Six seats in this “escape pod” meant two for them, and four to be filled. Why bring her up from Hades, unless Konar wanted her in one of those seats? He must have known she would scare the heck out of his crew.
“Escape to where?” Konar sounded doubtful. “Six of us in a tiny boat, alone in an awfully big cosmos.” Right now Konar was king of his world, with a whole system-cum-slave-emporium at his command. Hades was not just his hide-out, but a hub for slaving throughout the Far Eridani, where ships and cargoes were fenced, where deals were struck and prisoners resold—all in a fleshy carnival mood catering to crews on leave. Why trade his personal pleasure planet for a tiny escape pod headed into the void?
“Where there is life, there is hope,” Hess suggested. “The pod is on the hangar deck, in berth L, programmed to go—code word ‘Medea.’ Use it, or not.” With that Hess got up, his chair vanishing into the deck, along with the table, leaving the 3V display hanging in space. Hess grinned at her, doing a swift nodding bow, then left, tickled to see the girl he saved, all grown up and sitting on his boss’ float-a-bed. Yet another coup for the Hiryu's able commander.
Konar studied the hanging 3V display, not acknowledging her arrival. Deirdre waited. Without looking at her, Konar ordered, “Take off the kimono."
She got up and obeyed. Konar liked seeing her in just the leather boots, never letting her wear underwear. Other than that, his tastes were pretty plain. Sex was not that important to Konar. He did not need it all the time, or to twist it into anything kinky—not much at least. By now she was the galaxy's foremost authority on the Grand Dragon's sex preferences, and while Konar might be an insane mass murderer, he was thankfully not much of a sadist. So long as he had the most beautiful woman available at his complete command, Konar seemed fairly content with extreme mental cruelty.
He turned and grinned, liking what he saw. She smiled back, determined to win a seat in that escape pod, set to give Konar a reason to live, and to save her as well.
Picking up her remote, Konar stroked her cheek with his free hand. He was hardly taller than her. Konar always said size did not matter—"Napoleon was shorter than you.” When she had to ask who Napoleon was, he laughed, telling her a story of Old Earth, from the days before Elvis. His fingers came to rest on her bare shoulder. “Are you nervous?"
Her smile had not fooled him. She nodded earnestly, knowing she could not lie her way into that escape pod, not to Konar.
“Don't be frightened,” he told her, thumbing her remote. “Be sexy."
Immediately she was not frightened, not in the least. Sharp urgent desire shot through her, going from groin to nipples. She wanted the slaver's strong, merciless tattooed body inside her—right now. Konar had skipped the setting for foreplay, and internal wiring allowed him to bring her to orgasm at the press of a button. She opened her mouth to say how much she wanted him, to beg Konar to take her with him—just her and him, so they could be together forever and ever. Konar pushed MUTE.
Sex with Konar was never boring. Sometimes he liked to play with the remote, forcing her through every physical-emotional state from abject terror to repeated multiple orgasm, merely for his private amusement. Or to entertain a guest. Twice he did it for Hess. But no one needed that now, least of all Deirdre. She had already gone through every emotion she could imagine, from abject horror at leaving Hades, to orgiastic hope that she might somehow survive this, if she just pleased Konar totally. She had been by turns scared, surprised, amused, maternal, wary, hopeful, and now sex crazed. And it was still the morning watch.
When he was fully inside her, Konar whispered, “Do not worry about being left behind."
His words cut through the haze of desire. Deirdre very much wanted to be left on Hades, but she could not say it, even if she had dared. All her being was fixed on pleasing Konar, and earning a seat on that escape pod. Konar could tell, and when he was done, he patted her butt, saying, “I will never give you up."
Just what every girl
wants to hear. Even Konar had a human side, somewhere. Back in her shared cabin, Deirdre collapsed in the sauna, telling warm water to cascade over her. Too wrung out to think, she listened to the drops pound down on her, glad to have a moment to herself, with nothing to plan, or evaluate, or submit to—just pure, clean, clear, warm water, carrying her worries away.
Despite all the glowing predictions, Deirdre's luck with men had been ghastly. Fate had simply fallen on her out of orbit. Had she left school later, or ducked into a different shelter when the sirens sounded, her life would have been totally different. She might already be dead. Deirdre thanked Elvis for giving her life and hope, glad he had an undying love for teenage girls—who had first made him King.
Jason was there when she got out, saying his sister was asleep, wanting to know, “Where did you go? Was that guy you talked with really a slaver?” He was warming to the idea that they were on a warship full of space pirates.
“Let's not talk about it,” she told him, settling into the soft pneumatic leather chair. With just four free seats on the escape pod, there was plainly no room for an opinionated little brat. If Konar wanted a hostage, he would take Heather. Most likely they would leave both kids to die. Horrible, but hardly her fault.
“Well, tell me about this planet we are supposed to be orbiting.” Another male needing to be entertained.
She stared at the purple-haired punk, wondering if she was doing him any favors, coddling and protecting him with her lying smiles. It only made her look like a pretty push-over with a space pirate boyfriend. “Do you want to see Hades?"
“Sure.” He practically dared her to show him.
You asked for it. She told the cabin to reconfigure, projecting an image of Hades’ surface outside the picture windows. Water, people, homes, greenery, blue skies, and sail planes vanished—replaced by a fiery vision of hell. Red searing landscape stretched away toward scarlet wind-carved cliffs, topped with orange-brown storm clouds, rent by violet lightning. Their cabin appeared to rest on a tall pink sand dune, surrounded by red rubble crushed beneath dense carbon dioxide atmosphere, flat as a sea floor and hot as hell's basement. Sulfuric rain fell on the highlands from the brown clouds, forming boiling acid rivers that vaporized before reaching the sizzling valley floor. Deirdre could taste the ozone on her tongue.
“Too cool.” Jason looked awestruck, and not the least frightened.
Her smile returned. There was hope for the boy after all, who had the plain good sense to compliment her boots. Konar's favorites as well. “That's just the surface,” she told him, “the good stuff is all underground."
Jason ran out onto the balcony to get a better look. She closed her eyes, hoping that Hades’ seething cauldron would give her some time to rest. She needed sleep if Konar called again. Thank Elvis she was not trying to please Hess.
Konar did not call, and Hess left to command the Hiryu—both ominous signs, of which Konar not calling was the worst. She desperately needed to be with him, to know for sure she too would live. Not even her remote had ever made her want Konar so much.
Hess's leaving implied the escape plan was on hold, since she could hardly picture Hess giving up his seat to someone else. Deirdre doubted the slaver Hess bumped for her in New Harmony ever got out of Goodwill City. Desperate to save herself, she asked the ship's computer what was stored on H-deck, berth L, and the answer came back—"Berth L contains Endurance's spare lifeboat, reconditioned for special use, coded access only.” Originally, Endurance had two such lifeboats—each able to carry the entire survey crew. There was no record of what happened to the other one. Deirdre weighed using the code word “Medea” to get more information, but that might draw unwanted attention. She had to trust that Hess did his job right, and escape was waiting if Konar wanted to use it.
Time passed, terrifying her even more. Her hot sweaty visit with Konar began to look like one last boink for old times sake, because they were soon headed up-sun on a high-g boost, going headfirst into battle—making it even harder to keep up a cheery front for Heather and Jason. Deirdre wanted to shriek and scream in protest, but that would have done nothing for the children's morale.
Her worst fears were confirmed when Konar came on 3V to send a mocking challenge to the cruiser Atalanta, complete with holos of Heather and Jason, telling the Navy to vacate Tartarus system tout de suite. Or get set to die.
Atalanta's answer was a long range salvo of Toryu—"Dragon Killer"—torpedoes. Fafnir replied with anti-missile fire and the fight was on.
Konar left the 3V channel open so his crew could follow the action. Deirdre watched horrified, holding Heather's hand, as high-g torpedoes raced toward the Fafnir. “What's happening?” Jason asked, enthralled by the notion of being in a battle, but unable to make much out of the 3V display. Missiles and counter-missiles flashed between the fleets, but there were no explosions in space, since antimatter warheads released most of their energy as hard radiation, not visible light. Only ship movements showed clearly. As Fafnir engaged Atalanta, the rest of the slaver ships, led by Fukuryu, attacked the two merchant cruisers.
“Who's winning?” Jason demanded, as Fukuryu—the “Lucky Dragon"—took on the lead merchant cruiser, the converted River Lines packet Niger.
No one, you idiot, thought Deirdre. A lot of folks—good, bad, and in between—were going to die for nothing, and Deirdre did not want to be one of them. She squeezed Heather's hand. “How good an actress are you?"
Heather looked hopefully up at her. “I was Romeo in our class play. None of the boys wanted to do the balcony scene."
Sounds promising. “Can you pretend to be hurt?"
“How hurt?” Heather asked.
“Badly hurt. Can you do convulsive shock?"
Heather nodded; if she could play a boy she could play anything. “Show me,” Deirdre demanded.
Throwing herself on the cabin deck, Heather started shaking and rolling her eyes, tossing herself about, and gagging horribly.
“Great,” Deirdre whispered, “drool a little, too.” Arching her back, limbs twitching, Heather dribbled spittle on the deck. Perfect. “Keep it up,” Deirdre hissed, then she called for the slaver on duty.
Dilating the door, the slaver stuck his head in. Seeing Heather flopping about, he asked, “What is wrong with her?"
Grabbing the guard's arm, Deirdre dragged him over to where Heather lay writhing, saying, “She's having a fit, and needs to go to the infirmary.” The slaver looked unconvinced.
Jason cheered. Everyone but Heather looked at the display. Great plumes of gas shot out of the lead merchant cruiser, which immediately lost power and fell behind. Fukuryu had gotten a direct hit on the Niger, knocking out its fusion reactor and gravity drive. Only a fried warhead kept the missile from blowing the converted liner to pieces. The slaver cheered too, using the “Lucky Dragons'” nickname—"Good Old Fuck-a-You. Hit her again you bastards.” He was shaking as hard as Heather.
“Look, if you won't take her to sickbay, I will.” Deirdre seized the children's remote from the slaver's belt.
“Sure, sure,” he did not even look at her, still fixated on the display, where his life or death was being decided. The second merchant cruiser, Jordan River, was taking on the Fukuryu.
Helping Heather up, she hustled the twitching girl toward the door, grabbing Jason with her free hand. He started to protest, saying there was nothing wrong with him, or his sister, but Deirdre stabbed MUTE on the remote. At the door, she heard a groan from the slaver. Looking back at the cabin display, she saw Fukuryu disintegrate under fire. The “Lucky Dragon"—Good Old Fuck-a-You—was gone, blasted to bits by the Jordan River.
The last words she heard from the slaver were, “Damn you Hess to hell.” Hiryu had turned away, leaving the slower Hydra to face Jordan River, and the crippled Niger. Hiryu was a converted gravity yacht, the fastest ship Konar had, and Commander Hess was not the type to face death happily. Not when others could face it for him.
Telling Heather to stop s
haking, she headed straight for the hangar deck with the two children in tow. Personal access codes got her past the hangar door, and “Medea” got her into berth L, where the Endurance's reconditioned lifeboat sat waiting, covered in curved battle armor. Inside were six crash couches; all the rest of the crew space had been sacrificed to double the gravity drive. Too bad three of the couches were going to lift empty, but there was literally no one aboard she could trust to take with her, no one who would not happily rape her and sell the children to the highest bidder.
Deirdre baby-strapped the kids in the command couches, tilting them back to keep their hands away from the controls, then picked the crew-chief's couch for herself—there she could run things while keeping watch on her charges. Hoping Hess knew what he was doing, she gave the command, and the escape pod flung itself away from Fafnir, headed outsystem at better than 20-gs.
And not a minute too soon. Fifty-three point two seconds after they separated, an antimatter warhead penetrated Fafnir's defenses, burying itself in Konar's flagship. Matter and antimatter came together, and Fafnir disappeared in a flash of hard radiation that blanked the escape pod's screens. Built to withstand the particle storm at near light speed, the redesigned lifeboat easily bucked the blast that obliterated Fafnir.
Inferno
“Still think we're on Elysium?” snorted Heather. Jason glared at her, but did not answer. Screens in front of him had flashed back on, showing Hades and the rest of the inner system receding at high speed.
Unfazed by the bickering, Deirdre was ecstatic, feeling gloriously alive and free. Not only would she live, but her every act was no longer monitored and recorded. She could shower or change without leaving a permanent record for slavers to enjoy, and she could do it whenever she wished. Her remote had been blown to atoms along with the Fafnir. She was still wired for control, but, without the coded remote, she was effectively free. No one could play with her emotions, or force her to do what she did not want.
Asimov's SF, February 2006 Page 18