by Steve Perry
"I understand."
"Good. Let's go."
The augmented image of Karnaaj peered at Stark from the video transceiver. White Radio did not transmit in color, for technical reasons having to do with FTL pulsations that Stark did not understand, but color was added on either end by computer. Sometimes, however, the computer enhancement seemed to be a little off, giving the subject a dead tone, as if the skin were lacking blood. With Karnaaj, the image always seemed to be that way, no matter what the computer did.
The voice came across fifteen light years. "I shall arrive there in three weeks," Karnaaj said. "Keep Maro alive until then. I would prefer that he be in a… receptive mood when I question him."
Stark stared at the Confed agent. He hated the man instinctively, but was careful not to let any of that show. "In other words, you want me to soften him up."
"Just so. But be warned. According to our psychological records, he has some kind of mind control technique that renders him immune to many forms of persuasion. He studied with some religious group called the Soul Melders for a time. Breaking him could be tricky. A wrong move and he might be lost to us. We would not want that."
"Of course not," Stark said.
"I see we understand one another."
Oh. I understand you well enough. Stark thought. You are worse by far than most of the scum behind my walls. Aloud, he said, "Yes."
"Then I shall see you in three weeks. Discom, Commander."
Stark did not reply, but reached up and waved the unit to darkness. He swiveled in his chair and stared out at the yard; then, abruptly, he turned back and touched a control on his com unit, set flush into the top of his desk. After a moment, Lepto's voice grated over it.
"Yessir?"
"Make sure that the prisoner Maro is able to leave the yard under his own power after the initiation. We have been ordered to keep him in one piece."
"Yessir." Lepto sounded disappointed.
Stark looked past the desk to the far wall of his office. Juete, still naked, lay sleeping on the couch. She might be tired, but it wasn't from their lovemaking, he knew. She could exhaust him totally and still have more energy than he'd had when they began. There was so much about her he didn't know, and so much he wanted to learn. She was a prisoner—guilty, like so many others in the Cage, of murder—but she was different, ah, so different! For, despite himself and his knowledge of the magic her pheromones worked. Stark loved the albino Exotic. It was more than sex, he was sure of that. He wanted to do things for her, to take care of her. When and if he ever left Omega, she would be going with him. He'd already had her sentence commuted, even though she was unaware of it. That had cost him, both in money and in favors, but it had been done. Only a few people knew of it, aside from himself, and no one inside the Cage.
As he watched the sleeping woman, he thought about Karnaaj's impending visit. That man could cause a lot of trouble. He would have to see what he could do to make Maro more pliable; however, from their first meeting. Stark did not think that would be a particularly easy task. It didn't matter if it were easy or hard, though. He would do it. One way or another.
Chapter Four
Although Maro had never done any hard time—only short stretches in local locks—he knew people who had spent large portions of their lives in major prisons. He had heard the stories, some true, some apocryphal, and he had an idea of what his first visit to the yard might be like. It was there that a man's measure was taken. Or, as in the case of a cosexual and cospecies prison like the Cage, it was where a woman or mue would be sized up. It was an old game, barely civilized; an initiation, ofttimes brutal, into the pecking order.
As Maro walked into the yard, followed by the giant guard Lepto, he saw the sideways looks and quick glances that came from the prisoners. He took a deep breath. This wasn't going to be fun, but he knew that his status from here on would depend on how he acted and reacted.
"This is the yard," Lepto said. "Good luck." Then he turned and lumbered off.
There were a lot of ways he could play it, Maro knew. He could approach somebody and start a conversation. Or he could keep moving, to discourage someone else from doing the same. Perhaps he could find a corner and so protect his back. Or maybe he should just stand where he was and wait. In the long run, it probably wouldn't make much difference.
He decided on the latter course. Whatever procedure the inmates had devised for checking out new meat would swing into action no matter what he did, so there was no sense in delaying the inevitable.
Maro looked around. To his left, a group of five men stood around an old-style weight bench, watching. A woman, not particularly large but extremely well muscled, lay on her back upon the bench. She wore a pair of shorts, a halter, and half-fingered lifting gloves. Across the supports was a bar loaded with steel plates. This was a one-gee world, or thereabouts, and Maro quickly estimated the amount of weight stacked on the bar. It looked to be about a hundred and ninety kilos, counting the bar itself. His eyebrows went up slightly. He might be able to bench that much, if his life depended on it. Then again, the woman looked like she weighed no more than sixty kilos, which made the amount of iron she was working with more than three times her own body weight. That would put her in world-class range on most worlds, for men or women. He doubted she would be able to get steroids in the Cage, and that made it even more impressive.
As he watched, the woman gripped the bar, lifted it from the supports without any of the watchers spotting her, and proceeded to bench press the weight eight times in a smooth, easy motion.
Maro turned away. If she was doing reps with that much, it was likely she could push a lot more for a single or double. Which made her stronger than just about anyone he had ever seen; certainly much stronger than he was.
Behind him, a voice said, "The woman you've been admiring is called Raze. She's from Tatsu, just like Lepto. It's a heavy-gravity world."
Maro turned slowly to see a short, slightly built man of about forty-five T.S., with a professorial air. The left side of his head was permanently depilated, and he wore a flat-pack droud plugged into an inset skull socket.
"They call me Scanner," the man said, raising a hand in a palm-out greeting. Maro returned the gesture. "Dain Maro." He looked back at Raze, who was now on her third set. A light sheen of perspiration coated her skin, and the muscles were pumped to an impressive degree.
"High-gee or not," he said, "she's strong." He looked back at Scanner. "A mue?"
Scanner looked back at Raze and smiled slightly. "Not exactly, though she's had a few genes spliced. But the primary trick is forced superdense musculature growth, alloy-reinforced bone structure, and nylon ligaments. She can probably punch through steel." He paused, then said, "Our psychopathic friend who brought you out here would like very much to have carnal knowledge of Raze. But the warden doesn't like fraternization. Except, of course, for Juete and him."
Juete… "The albino."
"You saw her?"
Maro nodded. "I saw her."
Scanner laughed. "She's an Exotic, from the Dark world. Genetic playtoys, originally, but they bred true. Pheromonically potent and designed to attract anything remotely human, male or female. You felt her pull, I take it?"
"I felt it."
The small man laughed again. "Oh, yeah, everybody who gets close to Juete feels it. But she's the warden's property, top to bottom. Lay a hand on her and you're dead. Believe me, more than a few have tried."
Maro was about to reply, when suddenly there was a shriek like torn metal, and a batwinged shadow blotted out the sun. Scanner hurled himself toward Maro, knocking the smuggler off his feet. "Get down!" he shouted.
Maro rolled over and looked up, shielding his eyes against the sun. He had a confused impression of something banking and diving toward him with the sun at its back, something huge, with leathery, claw-tipped wings and a giant hammerhead split with gleaming teeth. Then it was past him and arrowing toward the weightlifter.
Maro saw R
aze, now off the bench and standing amidst a pile of iron plates and other weightlifting paraphernalia. The other prisoners who had been watching her scattered as the flying predator dove toward her. Raze, however, didn't run—instead she grabbed a five-kilo plate and hurled it like a discus at the thing swooping toward her. The plate struck the creature in the head, and with another shriek, this time of anger and pain, it swerved away.
Maro got to his feet, still bewildered by the swiftness of it all. Around him, other prisoners were rising also. They immediately resumed whatever it was they had been doing before the attack. No one showed much surprise or reaction. Maro looked questioningly at Scanner.
"Dragonbat," Scanner said. "One of Omega's larger and more unfriendly lifeforms. Every now and then they like to drop into the yard for a snack."
Maro looked at the towers, where the guards were grinning as they watched the prisoners. He heard Scanner add, "The guards' weapons always seem to be out of ammo when it happens."
He looked back at Raze, who had calmly resumed her workout. "Looks like it picked the wrong meal this time," he said.
Then he felt a cold chill run up his spine as Scanner said, too casually, "Someone's coming to do you."
That confirmed what Maro had anticipated. Somebody would be testing him. He relaxed, his senses alert, waiting for whatever form the attack would take—
"Well. What have we here?"
Maro turned slightly to view the speaker. He did not let his surprise show; if anything, the man was even more innocuous-looking than Scanner. He wasn't a dwarf, but he wasn't much larger. And he had the face of a saint— smooth skin, no wrinkles except deep laugh lines, and electric green eyes. The snide voice didn't go at all with the face. Maro couldn't figure out how old the man was; he could be anywhere from twenty to forty. He was sure, however, that the saintly appearance was misleading. Looking like he did and still being alive in the Cage, he had to have something going for him. Some kind of martial art, perhaps?
"What a sweet ass you have," the saint said. "I'll just have me a piece of it."
Maro tensed. Rape in a crowded prison yard didn't seem likely, not with guards watching. But something was going to happen… He couldn't stop looking at the man's eyes. They were so green that they seemed to glow, to expand somehow, filling his vision…
And suddenly, with no sense of transition whatsoever, he was no longer in the yard. He was in a seraglio—a huge chamber with satin wall hangings. He was nude and chained face down on a large bed covered with black silk sheets. He twisted his head, and could just glimpse the dwarf standing behind him. He was wearing leather trappings and robes now. He stood behind the bed, chuckling, and parted the robes slowly to reveal an enormous erection.
Maro struggled, but the chains held him firmly. His mind was dazed—where was he, and how had he gotten here?
It's not real, he thought, and suddenly knew that was the truth of it. Maro took a deep breath and let it slowly escape, then began to set his mind in the Defense Cast he had learned from the Soul Melders—
The dwarfs laughter grew louder and louder. Maro could feel the man touching him, stroking him lasciviously. He forced himself to divorce himself from the feelings of revulsion and outrage, to reach within himself for the strength necessary to fight…
And then, just as suddenly as before, he was back in the yard. He staggered backward as though he had just broken free of a tether. He could feel sweat running down his face. The dwarf had not moved, but there was a look of shock on his face. Then, as Maro regained his balance and stepped forward again, the shock was replaced with fear. The dwarf turned and ran.
Maro saw Scanner and some of the other inmates looking at him with new-found respect.
"Amazing. Nobody ever did that to the Mindfucker before," Scanner said softly. "He's one of the strongest empaths in the galaxy."
Maro turned slightly to look at the other man. "Is this it?"
Scanner shook his head. "One more. Sandoz."
"More mind games?"
"No. Sandoz is nothing if not physical."
Maro spun in a small circle, searching the yard, feeling for danger, looking for someone who carried himself or herself in a way that suggested more than usual competence. He was fairly good with his hands and feet—close combat was taught by the Melders as part of body control— but he wasn't good enough to do more than slow a real expert, without surprise on his side. But they had also taught him how to recognize a real expert. Look for balance, for centeredness, for confidence, open your senses and feel the ki. You can sense it, if it is powerful enough.
There. There he was. A tall man, well-built but not like a bodybuilder, looking away from Maro.
Maro walked toward the man, stopping three meters away. The other still had his back to Maro, but there was no doubt that he was aware of the smuggler.
Maro took a deep breath. "Let's get it over with," he said.
The other man turned as if surprised. He had ordinary features, was, in fact, so average in appearance that Maro felt he could blend into a crowd of two and be anonymous. He raised an eyebrow, then shifted his feet by maybe two centimeters.
There was only one way he could survive this, Maro knew. He had to balance the other man's movements perfectly. The slightest misalignment would be fatal. This man was dangerous. He moved his own stance a hair, trying to stay tuned to the other's energies.
Sandoz leaned, hardly a motion at all.
Maro took a half step to his left.
Sandoz grinned, as if to say, Hey, someone who knows how to play. He backed up six centimeters and twisted slightly to his right—and Maro lost the thread that connected them. He moved forward and slightly aslant to the right, realized his error, and compensated by quickly sliding to the left. The balance was struck again, but—
"Slow," Sandoz said. "I could have taken you."
"Yes," Maro said.
"But not bad. You get points for recognizing me, and points for two out of three." He grinned again. "And we both know how it would have gone—right?"
"We know," Maro said. The man could have killed him with no effort, had he chosen to do so. He was better than anybody Maro had ever faced, and that included his instructors.
Sandoz extended his palm. "Welcome to the Cage," he said.
Maro blew out his breath in a sigh. He had just passed the initiation and was alive to celebrate.
Lepto's voice on Stark's com sounded very unhappy. Stark was more than a little amazed to hear what the guard had to say.
"—nothing happened. I mean nothing, do you understand what I am telling you here? First the pervert bracketed him, then next thing you know the little turd was running away. This Maro, he never even moved, never touched the guy."
"I see," Stark said. "And Sandoz?"
"That was even weirder. He had maybe two words with Scanner and then stalked off to bracket Sandoz." Lepto paused there. Stark was surprised; nobody stalked Sandoz. As a personal assassin, he was second to no one in the cage. Aside from contract killing, he had walked the Musashi Flex, for fun. Never defeated there, and never missed a paid snuff. They would never have caught him, either, if a nervous client hadn't turned him in. Even Lepto, who feared no one else, stayed calm around Sandoz.
"He and Sandoz shuffled around for a few minutes like a couple of old maids on a dance floor, then all of a sudden they were pals. I don't copy it, Warden. This guy's got something strange working."
Indeed. Stark thought. But he did not say so. Instead, he merely said, "It doesn't matter. The Confed wants him. When they're done with him, I doubt he'll have much of anything left working."
"Yeah, right," Lepto said. He didn't hide the glee in his voice.
Stark shook his head in disgust. Lepto was a sociopath. Useful, but a star on the edge of going nova. Stark didn't want to be anywhere close when Lepto finally let go.
"It doesn't seem as though he's in any danger from the yard scum, not if Sandoz likes him. Keep a long eye on him, but otherwise leav
e him alone."
"Copy that. Warden."
"Discom," Stark said.
He leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling, his fingers steepled. Interesting. Another time, another place, and maybe Maro would have been somebody worth getting to know. But not here and now. Now, the man was just another number, another member of the herd of animals he had to control. He felt a vague regret, but he quickly shunted it aside. Things were as they were. And, mind control or not, Maro would soon be only a walking shell, after the Confed got through with him.
Chapter Five
As the sun climbed higher, the heat grew more oppressive. When Maro had first arrived in the yard, it had been early enough to be hot, but not too bad. Now the day felt tropical. Sweat ran and stained his coverall, and if there was any evaporation, he did not notice it. The humidity must be almost a hundred percent, the temperature close to body heat.
Scanner was introducing Maro to other prisoners and giving him a basic outline of operations inside the Cage.
"No rehab, of course," Scanner said. "Nobody leaves, so why bother? There is some work to be done, mostly seasonal. We have to be pretty much self-sufficient. We grow our own food, mostly, and do all of the construction work ourselves. What has to be imported costs, and the Confed doesn't see wasting a lot of stads on us."
Raze came up to them. Maro waited for Scanner to finish his short speech, then nodded once at the woman. She was shorter than Maro by five centimeters, and by this time had worked up a bright sheen of sweat. The thin shorts and halter were plastered to her, and despite the play of muscles under her tanned skin, there was no doubt whatsoever that she was female. She smiled at him.
"Nice move on the Mindfucker," she said. "He did me when I got here and it wasn't fun."
"What did you do afterward?" Maro asked.
She shrugged. "Came up behind the little bastard and broke his arm. He doesn't bother me now."
I'll bet, Maro thought. I'd bet nobody bothers you much.