by Cara Bristol
Sure is hot, he said. No wonder these people are cranky.
Trigger happy, too.
Let’s hope not.
Like any spaceport, this one bustled with people dashing into and out of the terminal. The air buzzed with spacecraft taking off and landing. But the personnel were overwhelmingly male, armed, and in military dress. Ships zooming in and zipping out were warbirds. Either they had landed on a military base or little civilian travel occurred.
He wished Amanda could walk beside him so he could better protect her, but that would draw too much attention. In this backwater society, culture demanded females show deference by following the men.
Stick close to me. Remember to keep your head bowed, your gaze down. Super-enhanced vision still didn’t give him eyes in the back of his head.
Yes, Tetric. She used the alias that went with his disguise. Cyberpathic communication transmitted words, not tone, but he didn’t imagine the sarcasm.
You like this, don’t you? she said. Being in control. Me in the underling position.
I don’t like it at all. He hated how vulnerable the required subservience made her. The jeopardy she would be in when Kilead got her alone, when he couldn’t come to her aid. It didn’t matter if she was a cyborg, a trained operative. He was her backup, but he couldn’t be with her every second.
“Tetric?” A man in a tan uniform more civilian than military jumped out of a grounded PeeVee, its engine idling. He peered at his PerComm and then at Sonny.
“Yes, I am.”
“My name is Garvit. I’ll escort you to the residence of Lamani-al-bon.” He glanced at Amanda. “This is the female?”
“My sister.” He nodded.
In typical Lamis-Odg fashion, he did not greet her. Instead, after confirming her identity, he gestured to the vehicle. “Please board.”
Sonny climbed into the passenger compartment behind the navigation cab, and Amanda scooted in next to him. The door slid shut. Shit. Maybe they should have asked for their escort’s identification. They’d taken it on faith he was who he said was. But who else would he be but their pre-arranged guide? No one but Kilead and the staff who’d coordinated their arrival expected them. Hell, with the exception of Carter, no one in the free galaxy knew they were here. If they ran into trouble, they would just disappear…
Garvit slid into Nav compartment. “Computer. Return to Lamani-al-bon’s compound.”
They were headed to the right place, anyway.
“How was your journey?” Garvit asked.
“Long,” he replied. “Tiring.”
Their escort chuckled and shook his head. “Space travel isn’t what it used to be. So many delays. I hope Security didn’t give you a hard time.”
“No, it was fine.” They hadn’t been shot, so that counted as fine.
“What brings you to the homeland?”
“Business. I am hoping Lamani-al-bon will find my sister pleasing.”
“Where are you from?”
Were Lamis-Odg normally this social? Was the man making conversation or interrogating him? “The sector seven space station.” He stuck to the script of their cover story. “I was born there. My father serves under General Obido.”
“Obido is a true loyalist. Glory to the Great One and Lamani, His Prophet and Incarnate.”
“Glory to the Great One…” he and Amanda chanted back.
He met her gaze. Halle-fucking-lujah.
No kidding, she fired back. The dumb schmucks don’t realize they’re brainwashing themselves every time they repeat the party line.
“This isn’t your first trip to the homeland?” Chatty Garvit asked.
“Actually, it is.” While it would build credibility as devoted patriots if they lied and said they’d made many pilgrimages to the home planet, it wouldn’t serve them in the long run. He expected to commit a few faux pas. So much of Cy-Ops’s intel on Lamis-Odg came second and third hand and had yet to be confirmed. The planet was a textlog example of a closed society. If—when—they screwed up, they could call upon their lack of familiarity with the homeland as their defense. Not that ignorance would buy them much leeway. Lamis-Odg didn’t have the best rep when it came to forgiveness.
The PeeVee crawled out of the shuttleport, but, once it cleared the congestion, it zipped and zoomed through the air, skimming over undulating desolate hills of sand tinted pink by a red sky. Winds buffeted the vehicle and blew swirling patterns on the ground, building new dunes while erasing others. Sand, sand, and more sand spread out to the horizon. A kaleidoscope in a single color. Ever changing, yet somehow the same.
“If time permits, you should do some sightseeing. The homeland is stunning, as you can see.”
“It is indeed.” If you liked sand.
“Dusk is the best time to walk among dunes. It is most beautiful then. Be sure to bring your PerComm so you can find your way back to the compound. Do not pick the hala if you find any.”
“It’s forbidden to pick the flowers?” he asked.
Garvit roared with laughter. “No, you may try to pick them if you wish. But they have a nasty bite. With one chomp, they could sever your hand.”
So far I’m not seeing much beautiful about this planet, Amanda said.
Doesn’t seem that way, he agreed.
“And be on the watch for iwani,” Garvit said. “Sunset is feeding time.”
According to their religion, followers who rebelled were transformed into sand demons and banished beneath the dunes for eternity.
“You mean they’re real?” Amanda gasped.
Garvit twisted around in his seat. Friendliness had vanished. He scowled. “You will find out how real they are when the Great One casts you out of His Grace and transforms you into one of them.”
Amanda—what the fuck?
Sorry, my skepticism slipped out.
“I apologize for my sister’s irreverence. She will be punished for her blasphemous statement, I assure you. Penance shall be meted out by Him.”
Garvit seemed satisfied, and he turned around in his seat. With any hope, the damage was minor—but if their escort reported the comment, “Sumara” might be deemed unfit to be a mate. Not a bad thing. It would mean they’d botched the mission, but this was the first time in his Cy-Ops career where the ends failed to justify the means. He still opposed Amanda going undercover as a terrorist’s mate.
On the other hand, if the slip subjected them to closer scrutiny, that would be a very bad thing. Illumina, the only Faria Cy-Ops agent in existence and a computer sensate, had hacked the Lamis-Odg database on Obido’s space station and planted their cover story. But if people started asking questions of other people, memories would not match records, and their cover would crumble like an expired Nutri-Sup bar.
After the little gaffe, their escort became less chatty, but minutes later, the PeeVee zoomed over an enormous sand dune. Beyond it, sprawled a fortified city. Soldiers armed with photon blasters patrolled the top of the wall.
The PeeVee pulled up to a tower and hovered. The cab lit up with a yellow glow as a weapon detector scan crawled over the vehicle. Kilead didn’t take any chances with security. Even official escort vehicles were subject to search.
“What would happen if they found something?” he asked Garvit.
“They’d destroy the PeeVee.”
“And we’d be arrested.”
“No, because we’d be in the PeeVee when they blew it up.”
After the scan, they were ordered to exit the vehicle. A guard swept Sonny from head to toe with a bio reader. Would the chip in his chest work? The machine beeped twice. Was that good or bad?
“He’s clear.”
Amanda and Garvit also passed, and the guard motioned they could reboard.
What’s next? An anal probe?
Wide, electronically controlled doors rolled open, and the PeeVee entered the city. The gates sealed. They’d gotten in. If all went as planned and Kilead accepted “Sumara,” Sonny would be escorted back to the shutt
leport.
But how the hell would Amanda get out?
Chapter Six
“She is fertile?” Kilead circled around and inspected the goods. Amanda stood motionless and grateful for her long robe. His impersonal, yet lascivious, scrutiny made her skin crawl.
“Medically certified. I sent you the documents,” said Sonny from across the room, where he’d been ordered to wait. As her “brother Tetric,” he was brokering the arrangement.
Cy-Ops partner, brother, whatever, as long as he was present, Kilead probably wouldn’t try anything. She hated to admit how relieved she felt.
Tetric continued, “In addition, the females in my family have a history of producing male children. My two other sisters have produced seven sons between them.”
With Lamis-Odg, the female determined the sex of the child. It had probably come as a severe blow to their male egos when science had revealed that biological fact. No doubt the women had been paying for it ever since.
“She is pure?” asked a slight man with a weasel’s face. He wore the uniform insignia of a second-in-command.
“Yes. She has not been mated,” Sonny said.
How did they determine virginity? Did women have hymens? Not that it mattered because, despite what she’d led Sonny to believe, no way would she have sexual intercourse with a terrorist alien. She hadn’t figured out yet how to avoid it, but she’d come up with something to ensure Kilead would reveal his father’s location long before she had to pay up.
After two days at the compound, she’d discovered sexism was worse than she’d thought. Mating aside, females were ignored, treated almost as if they were part of the background like the uncomfortable furniture, the tapestries depicting the ugly landscape, the carpets on the floor. Exactly like rugs. The males walked all over the females.
On the upside, males didn’t watch what they said around females. The things she’d heard! She’d already gathered invaluable intelligence. Unfortunately, they still didn’t have the one key piece of info they’d come for: the location of Lamani.
When she got Kilead alone, she would flatter him, stroke his ego—only his ego—and get him to talk about his father. Of course he would brag about his father’s god-instructed crusade to rid the galaxy of infidels. He would be bound to let something slip. Secrets kindled a burning desire to tell somebody. Who better than a female who posed no risk?
Kilead adjusted himself in his pants, which had begun to tent. “She did well in her tutoring?” Females were kept illiterate. Their “education” consisted of instruction in the home arts and how to sexually please a man. How to fuck, give blow jobs, and act like you liked it when you got nothing in return.
“She was an avid pupil.”
Amanda bit her lip to keep from snickering.
“If I accept her, I should require a dowry greater than one hundred thousand credits.”
“My offer is more than generous, considering her pedigree—she is pure, well-trained, and has a proven fertility record.”
Woof. Woof, she transmitted.
This isn’t funny, Amanda.
You don’t need to tell me! But she had to dig her fingernails into her palms to keep a nervous giggle from erupting.
“If I may suggest, perhaps Lamani-al-bon would like to test her before making a purchase,” weasel man said.
Test her? Was she a used PeeVee?
“Excellent idea, Sorviq.” Kilead nodded.
Amusement vanished.
Sorviq. Sorviq. She ran the name through her database. Kilead’s brother. Technically, Lamani-al-duban. The second son. The spare to the heir. A trusted confidant.
“I would like to try her before I decide.” Kilead grabbed her breast and squeezed. She hid her fists in her skirt to keep from coldcocking the ugly, lecherous bastard. She sucked in air through clenched teeth.
Son of a bitch! Sonny’s silent curse rang in her head. Seated behind her, he couldn’t have seen the grope, but he charged to her side. Two guards leapt forward, weapons drawn.
It’s all right, she said quickly. Playing the hero would be the quickest way to get shot. And blow their cover.
It’s not all right.
I can handle this. Play your part.
His voice betrayed none of his outrage when he said, “I cannot allow a sampling. If you decide not to accept her, she has been spoiled for another.”
“That is not my concern.” Kilead’s Odgidian ridge reddened. “No one denies Lamani-al-bon.” He glanced at his brother who tapped a comm link on his wrist.
A servant materialized.
“Escort them back to their respective quarters for the time being then bring the female to Lamani-al-bon after the evening meal,” Sorviq instructed.
Kilead walked away. “I shall determine if she is everything you say she is, and then we will negotiate.”
* * * *
Sonny paced in his quarters. Jail cell. Where he had been free to roam before, now two ugly and armed guards were posted outside his door to ensure he stayed put. Worse, despite frequent hails, he couldn’t reach Amanda via wireless. Amanda!
Why didn’t she answer? Dinner wouldn’t be served for another couple of hours, but what if Kilead had decided to go for an appetizer? What kind of man “tested” a woman before accepting her? What the hell were they going to do now? The forehead prosthesis throbbed with his churning emotions. He itched to rip the damn thing off. No, he itched to grab her and get off this backwater hellhole. Then march into headquarters and rip Carter a new one. He didn’t care what she, Carter, or the entire free galaxy wanted. This was no assignment for a woman.
Amanda, answer me. If he didn’t hear from her soon, he was gonna knock two Lamis-Odg heads together like watermelons, storm over to her quarters, and drag her out of here. Mission be damned. He’d find some way to get out of the compound and off the planet.
The door whooshed, and he whipped around. In she waltzed, pretty as you please, in a loose purply colored robe that somehow managed to cling to her curves as much as it flowed around them. Before the door closed, he spotted the guards, their expressions curious but not concerned.
“You have quite a welcoming committee out there,” she said.
“I messaged you! Why didn’t you answer?” He glared. Her eyes had grown larger, the lids outlined, the corners shadowed in a smoky tint. Her mouth appeared rosier. Her hair had been intricately braided and fell down her back.
“You did? I never got it.” She plucked at the gown’s skirt. “The servants were preparing me for the evening’s gala. I assumed you would want to meet beforehand, so I stopped in. I’ve come up with a plan—”
“I have a plan, too,” he said. “You’re not going. We’re getting out of here.”
“We haven’t completed the task. We can’t go yet.” She glanced at the door. “Besides, until business is finalized, they won’t let us leave.”
No disagreement there. Exiting the compound would be more challenging than entering. They’d have to bust their way out, and there went their cover. “How did you get out of your quarters?”
“Apparently, they don’t consider women much of a threat. I didn’t have a guard on my room.”
“Perfect,” he said. She could walk out. “You can go to the shuttleport, and I’ll follow as soon as I can.”
“Negatory.” She shook her head. “A, I’m not leaving you here alone. And, B, we still haven’t narrowed down Lamani’s location. I’m not giving up until we do.”
“This is more than you—we can handle. We’re in over our heads. We’re done here.”
Her chin came up. “Don’t tell me what I can handle and what I can’t. I’m the senior team leader, and if anyone makes a unilateral decision to bug out, it will be me.” Her forehead pulsed. “We’re staying. I’m a cyborg. I will complete this assignment like any male field operative would.”
“No male agent would have to fuck a terrorist!”
She flinched but rebounded with a curse. “Bullshit! What if Kilead wer
e the daughter, and she knew Lamani’s whereabouts? You mean you wouldn’t seduce her to get the intel?”
“That’s different.” He ground his teeth.
“It’s exactly the same. I shouldn’t be treated differently because I’m a woman. I’m a member of the team. Period.”
“You’re already different. A male doesn’t face the same danger.” Why couldn’t she see it? Why was she so stubborn? Yes, Cy-Ops’s agents faced threats all the time. Danger went with the job. That did not excuse taking foolish risks. Male operatives did not encounter situations like this. A woman should not have to sacrifice her body for the good of the cause.
“I can take care of myself. I went through the same physical and psychological training as the other agents.”
Graduating Cy-Op Academy was no mean accomplishment. A good number of cyborgs washed out and were assigned to admin. Others, after swearing to uphold the confidentiality of the program, were allowed to seek jobs with the military or the Association of Planets. Only the toughest of the tough became field agents.
By virtue of the fact that Amanda stood on enemy soil, hands on her hips glowering at him, proved her mettle.
It still didn’t matter. He couldn’t allow her to put herself in harm’s way any more than she already had by being here. He couldn’t stand the idea of her submitting to Kilead, of him touching her, of him—his prosthesis throbbed, and his stomach churned. The images his mind conjured made him sick.
“Yeah. Yeah. You’re trained,” he said. “You’ll rip his head off and shove his balls down his neck. But how many men can you fight? Can you take on the whole effing planet? Every soldier and guard will be gunning for you.”
She spat nails with her eyes. “I can’t believe I started to like you. You’re no different from Lamis-Odg. You’re sexist, too. It’s only a matter of degree. You don’t think I can do this job.”
“I do think you can do it. I oppose what it requires you to do. Cy-Ops will get the intel another way. This won’t be the sole opportunity.”
“How many shuttleports and space stations will he bomb before we do? How many outposts will he attack? How many more innocent people will die?”