by Mike Moscoe
“Trying not to track mud into your hospital.” He gave her one of his crooked smiles. It hurt.
“Better you don’t drip blood all over the place.” She pulled him into her aid station, grabbed a wad of cotton, dabbed alcohol on it, and started working over his face.
“I saw you on the station,” Trouble said, trying not to wince. “Did you see me?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t show it. They catch you because of me?” Ruth turned pale under the mud that seemed to cake everyone.
“No. Someone else from Hurtford. A woman.”
“Zylon. That bitch. I saw her on the ship out to here. A lot of people wanted to talk to her back home, but she got away and took about forty of us with her, just to make her point. Whatever that is. She even bragged to us before their ship picked us up. Damn, that woman’s crazy.” Ruth glanced out the door. “She’s also our new boss.”
“I thought the woman on the balcony looked familiar.”
“Yeah.” Ruth started working down from his face. He opened his jumpsuit. “Trouble, who beat you up this time?”
“Some of the best. Got anything to help?”
“Nothing for the aches. The guards have their own painkillers, though I sew them up after their nightly brawls.”
“How do we get out of here?” The raw whisper of the words that had been clawing to get out of his throat escaped him.
“You don’t.” Ruth tapped his control pods. “That necklace is ceramic composite. Nothing here is going to cut it. You wander beyond the planted area, and you’re dead.”
“There are things out there big and nasty,” Tom added. “When they bring the bodies back, they’ve been chewed and clawed up something horrible.”
“I didn’t think we could eat the local stuff, or it eat us,” Ruth said.
“Most of it, we can’t,” Tom answered. “But that doesn’t keep some of them from trying.”
“How do we get off a message?” Trouble tossed out the fallback option.
“We can’t do that either,” Ruth answered.
Tom nodded in agreement. “Guards have the only radios, and they’re very short-ranged. One of the guys in my work group was the network manager who laid this whole planet out. They used fiber optics for everything. Kept radios to the minimum.”
Trouble scowled. “Explains why this planet was so silent when I tried listening to it. There’s got to be some spare transmitters besides the guards. Tractors, trucks?”
“My tractor has a GPS receiver, but no transmitter. There are no trucks on the compound.”
“Zylon has spare wrist systems,” Tom added after a pause. “She didn’t like the way a silver one looked with her red ensemble last night. She switched to gold. There must have been a dozen units, made up to look like jewelry.”
“How can we get our hands on them?” the marine asked.
Tom turned away. “They’re in her bedroom. Gida, the overseer before her, had kind of adopted me. She wanted to get ahead in this business. I was her teacher, sort of a MBA bed-warmer. I guess she passed that along to Zylon. She had me in the last two nights. Business and pleasure in one neat package.” He glanced back to them, a helpless twist to his empty smile.
“Before Gida, I never thought a woman could rape a man. Zylon…” He shook his head. His back was raked with long claw marks. “There’s something wrong with that woman.”
“Think you could lift one of her wrist units for a day?” Trouble asked. “We could modify it, use Ruth’s tractor to power it up, jack up its range.”
“For what?” Ruth asked as Trouble zipped up his suit now that she was done dabbing sealant on all his abrasions and contusions. “Where would we send the message?”
“Security is never perfect, or so a friend of mine insists. Tom, you get me the guy who designed the system and a transmitter, and we’ll figure out a place to patch into it.”
“You are Navy.” Tom eyed him hard, maybe almost hopefully.
“And the Navy looks after its own,” Ruth quoted.
“Hey, you in there!” A rough voice from the outside cut them off.
“Damn, it that time already?” Tom muttered as he opened the door. “You hunting for me?”
“Naw. She wants the new guy. Tordon, you in there?”
In the cramped quarters of the clinic, Trouble was face to face with Ruth. Her nostrils flared as she took an involuntary step back from him. Without thought, he reached for her and pulled her close. In her ear he whispered, “Hang together. I’ll have something for you when I get back.”
She nodded as he turned. Her arm held his, trailing out to fall only when he was out of reach. “Be careful” was the last he heard from her.
“I’m Tordon,” he said, stepping past Tom.
“Come with me.” The fellow leered. Trouble followed him through the compound to the largest of the houses on the square. An open showerhead sprouted from one side. Trouble was ordered to “Strip, and get the mud off ya.”
He did. The warm spray washed the aches from his abused muscles, the oil and dirt from his hair and body. Except for where he knew he was headed, he might have enjoyed it. The power of the spray wore away the ointment Ruth had put on his cuts; several began to bleed again. At the order to “Hurry up,” he switched to cold water and felt cool for the first time in a week. He turned from the shower to find no towel…and his jumpsuit and boots had been kicked aside.
“Follow me.” Trouble did, padding along, dripping and naked. On the veranda of several of the smaller houses, guards lounged, bottles in hand. “New meat for the old lady” was the least of the catcalls he got. “Maybe this one’ll be good enough to live through the night” didn’t match with Tom’s claim to being a regular. The strategist in Trouble evaluated the prospects and options available to him, even as the man in him was hit hard by humiliation and degradation.
His options were few. Be stubborn and die, or do what was wanted of him, exactly as it was wanted, no matter what the cost, and maybe he’d live. Maybe he’d walk out of here with a transmitter. The tough combat marine in Trouble wanted to fight. The man in him wanted to kill someone, wipe out this shame. The officer in him knew payback time would come later, but only if he did this right. The man who loved Ruth would do anything he had to to save her from a night like this with the guards. As the guard led Trouble up the central stairs of the big house, he bowed his head, took a deep breath, and swore to do whatever he had to do—for Ruth, and for revenge.
• • •
Zylon Plovdic liked what she saw in the mirror. No more of Hurtford’s make-do. She was making it her way. Removing the wrist unit that had matched today’s outfit, she searched in her jewelry box for one to match tonight’s ensemble. The jet-black “living leather” pants and mesh top needed something chrome and black. As befitted a station director, she had plenty to choose from. She smiled; a station director managing four subordinate supervisors, thirty-two employees, and almost two hundred “volunteers.” Big Al said it was just a start. The last woman had been boss here over a year. Zylon wouldn’t need that long; what was her name, Ruth, right, she knew how to run a farm. Zylon would double production in a lot less than a year.
With a happy smile, she strapped an ebony-and-silver comm unit onto her left wrist, then found a matching holder and slipped it around her right hand. Kick should be here any moment with the controller. There was a knock at her door.
“Yes?” she answered sharply.
“I got what you asked for.”
“Come in.”
Kick opened the door. He handed her the control pod; she quickly slipped it into her palm holder. The naked man entered, his head low, his eyes darting like those of some cornered animal—or some virgin girl. Zylon tapped the unit in her hand. A tremor shook the man from head to toe. “Everything is working fine, Kick. Thank you.” She smiled at her deputy.
With a curt nod, he closed the door.
Zylon studied the man. Tall, light skinned, close-cropped hair. He had everythin
g a man should have, though disappointingly limp at the moment.
“You’re Tordon. You were on Hurtford Corner a while back.”
Head bowed, his eyes came up to meet hers. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You caused me a lot of trouble.”
“I imagine from your perspective, I did.”
Zylon tapped the controller, held it. The man fell to his knees, his hands helplessly grasping at the pods on his neck. Zylon wondered how long it would take it to kill a man, what he would look like, how he would scream. She might find out tonight. But not yet. This guy had disrupted too much of her life to die quickly. “Is there any other perspective? Besides mine?”
Tordon collapsed on the floor, like a naked savage worshiping his goddess. Zylon liked that image; she let it play in her mind while he groaned. With a well-manicured toe, she tapped him. “Is there?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Stand up.” He struggled to his feet.
“Hold me.” There was fright in his eyes as he put his arms around her. She rested her body against him. There was blood on his chest from a cut; she nuzzled closer, licked him. The coppery taste pleased her. She began stroking his back; he followed suit. She raked him with her nails. He flinched but kept up a slow, gentle massage that left her wanting to purr. She didn’t want to purr tonight. She wanted to scream in ecstacy, watch him scream in agony.
She stepped away from him, sat on the edge of the bed, enjoying the feel of silk sheets through the skintight slacks. “Come, take off my boots,” she ordered.
He came, knelt before her. So submissive, she wanted to kick him. She did. He started to dodge, then froze. The spikes of her high heels caught his arm. More blood. The night was getting better.
“Take my boots off slowly. Gently. Pleasurably,” she whispered. There was fire behind his eyes, but he nodded submissively. What’s driving this man? My controller? His fear of death? The thoughts excited her as he reached for her boots. His fingers played along her legs, pleasurably. She moaned softly as his fingers massaged and delighted.
Yes, this one knows his place. She’d had another who thought her outfit was a come-on. That she was here for him. It had been a joy, using the controller over and over, until he got the message who was boss here. He hadn’t been much use by that time. This one was a fast learner.
“Now take my pants off.”
His hands slowly flowed up her flanks, gently undid each fastener that held them in place. His fingers wandered, the living leather transmitting their touch wide over her body. Her inner thighs warmed when a wandering hand passed quickly over them as they searched for her belt. Damn, I may keep this guy around.
She reached for him. He was still small in her hand. “What’s the matter with you? You like boys or something? Maybe I should have a couple of the foremen in here.”
That brought fear to his eyes when the controller had only brought pain. “I’m not wasting it until you want it,” he answered her, maybe a tad too quickly. She’d have to consider keeping Kick here the next time she had this one in. Kick did have a way of getting his kicks.
Her pants were off; she leaned back on the bed. “Kiss me,” she ordered, tapping the controller. He didn’t flinch this time. He also didn’t ask where she wanted his kisses. He guessed right.
Much later, she came slowly awake. His slow ministrations to her afterglow had ceased. She rolled over. He was halfway to the door. His night vision must be bad; he was headed for the wall next to her dresser, not the door. “Leaving so soon?” she snapped. His back dripped blood; she’d gotten him good. Without a word, he turned back. Bite marks on his shoulders and chest showed red against his pale skin. Yep, it had been a fun night.
He returned to the bed, and the slow, long, strokes that had soothed and relaxed her for sleep. She rolled over, away from him. “I’m cold. Pull up a sheet.”
He obeyed. This was good. This was what a woman like her deserved. She kept her finger on the controller as she slowly fell asleep.
• • •
Back and forth, slowly, slowly, Trouble worked his hand along her back, trying to relax her, not wanting to excite her again tonight. Dear God, no! He struggled to slow his heart, slow his breathing, become nothing but a hand. He’d already been nothing but a slab of meat. His fingers twitched, wanting to grab the sleeping woman’s neck. Choke the life out of her. The sensitivity trainer had said abused women went through these feelings. He never thought a man could.
Used, degraded, nothing but meat on demand. He wanted to shake her, scream “I’m me. I’m a man.”
Slowly the hand worked its way down the back covered by the silk sheet. Her breath slowed; he slowed his with her. He had to put her to sleep before he fell asleep himself. Whatever happened, he did not want to be here tomorrow when she awoke.
If he fell asleep, he’d miss his chance to rummage through her jewelry box, lift a comm unit. He bit his lip and used the pain to keep himself awake as she drowsed. The taste of blood came again. She’d bit his lips. He’d been scared she would bite his tongue. How did you have sex with someone who scared you to death? How could a woman do it? He’d heard women could fake it. He couldn’t, but somehow he’d dredged up enough to satisfy her.
This time he was sure she was asleep, well asleep, before he risked rising from her bed. Listening to each slow breath, he walked toward the dresser—freezing in place when she moved in her sleep. It was too dark to make out any colors in the jewelry box; he selected a bracelet from the back. Holding it close to his eyes, he made sure it had a vid and speaker. Palming his prize, he sidestepped to the door. As he let himself out, he gave her one more glance. In the light from the court, she slept.
Between the houses and the barracks a guard sat, half or more asleep. The comm unit was in Trouble’s left hand; he edged to the right of the guard. The guard came awake as he passed.
“She kept you a while. Let me see your collar.”
Trouble stood while the man ran a scanner over his control pods. “She marked you up good. Better check into the clinic afore you get what little sleep you can.” Half asleep, the guard almost sounded human. Then, as Trouble passed him, the guard kicked him. Trouble held tight to his prize as he stumbled, but held his balance. The guard laughed, watching Trouble as he headed for Ruth and meds.
There was a dim light on in the clinic. He tapped on the door; it opened to his touch. Ruth sat on the one bunk; Tom and a short, wiry man squatted on the floor.
Both men were in breechcloths; Trouble was swept by a wave of shame and revulsion at his own nakedness, vulnerability.
“Did you get it?” Tom whispered. Trouble held up his hand and let his prize dangle.
“Bought and paid for.”
“You look like you’ve been through a meat grinder,” Ruth said, coming forward with a tray of cotton, cleansers and ointment.
“Not a bad way of putting it,” Trouble agreed as the stranger took the comm unit to study under a covered lamp and Ruth directed him to a small stool.
“What do you make of it, Steve?” Tom asked the short guy.
“We can jack it into the tractor’s receiver, use its antenna. The GPS satellite will accept a message. Every satellite’s got to send and receive maintenance checks, updates, and the likes. The Surveyor 2000+ series is no different from the rest…if I remember the codes for that puppy.” Steve headed for the clinic’s tiny diagnostic unit.
“You mean we could have sent a message out anytime?” Tom was incredulous.
“You got anybody you want to send a letter to? ‘Help, I’m being held hostage on a drug farm.’ Right; who do we know who’d pay attention to you or me? Now, Trouble here…”
“Who do we send to?” Tom asked.
“Wardhaven, Minister of Science and Technology. Copy to HSS Patton.”
“I can do that,” Steve mumbled as he typed. “What do we say?”
“That I’ll be a bit late for dinner,” Trouble suggested.
“She really tore you up,
” Ruth whispered through teeth gritted almost as tightly as Trouble’s.
“I’m the one getting alcohol poured in his claw marks. Why are you gritting your teeth?” Trouble hissed at the pain.
“’Cause it hurts me to hurt you. I mean, if you feel anything, you’ve got to feel with people. How she can do this and that at the same time? How you fellows can…and…”
Ruth looked close to tears.
He reached for her, held her at arm’s length. “I tried not to think of where I was or her. I thought of someone I’d rather be with.”
“Who?” came at him so fast he forgot to dodge.
“You.” She had refused to meet his eyes. She’d been staring straight down. Now, what had been so quiet was stirring straight back at her. She looked up at him, a hint of her old smile on her face.
“I think I believe you.”
“Guys, can I get something to wear?”
“Turn around. Let me get your back,” Ruth ordered.
“We’ll get you something at the bunkhouse,” Tom answered distractedly.
“Trouble, you notice any defense blisters on the station?” Steve was typing away. “It was ordered as a standard T-3-a.”
The marine closed his eyes, tried to remember the approach to the station. “Couple of bumps that didn’t belong. Say five or six to a side. Probably four times that, all told.”
“Okay. Standard set of three Meteorology 6112 weather satellites, Global Positioning System had twenty-four Surveyor 2000+ satellites in low orbit, and there are four repeaters in high stationary orbit to keep the station and Richman City in contact. We bought them straight off the shelf from TRW, but there were suggestions of adding encoders to them before I got the boot,” Steve answered. “Bet you didn’t get past the firewall or crack the encryption.”
“You can tell them that,” Trouble growled. “I also didn’t get anything on the ground layout.”
“Don’t worry.” Steve smiled. “Couple of us have been here almost from the get-go. I knew they were using the farms for a dumping ground for folks who knew too much and couldn’t be trusted close to high-tech gear. I just never figured I’d end up here.”