Moro's Price

by M. Crane Hana

  The medic looked appalled. “I thought you wanted to save him!”

  “We wanted to test him. He will save himself or not. We have provided him with tools to aid his flight or his death. His choice. His genetic material still has value,” said the buyer. “Purchase your own freedom in the next twenty minutes, Sero Terrani. Do not return to Kott’s stable. Your watch there is done. Leave Cedar System within twenty-four hours if you value your dawnfly life.”

  EVEN AFTER A year of fighting in the Golden Cage, the Diamond had never been allowed onto the casino roof. On another evening he would have been enchanted by the wraparound rooftop garden a hundred stories above the Vaclav Sector streets. The floor tiles were black solar glass, trapping energy during the day, becoming a dark mirror by night. Tubs of miniature fig trees and bamboo screened part of the dizzying view beyond. A silvery fountain trickled beside a wide couch covered in living grass and white flowering creepers. One milk-glass lantern illuminated the couch.

  Then he saw, beside the couch, a small black table displaying a crystal carafe filled with deep red wine, and two empty, fragile crystal goblets. Even from the access door, the Diamond saw the Rio Sardis palm tree etched and platinum-plated on the carafe and goblets.

  If he sat down and waited tamely for Lyton, it could all begin again tonight. The dance of love and murder, pain and ecstasy, stunning luxury and deepest degradation. For what? Even eight years ago, in his more lucid moments, the Diamond had known Lyton aimed beyond a beautiful bed warmer. Lyton had exulted when his pet fought back. Praised him for defiance. Rewarded meek obedience with worse assaults. No, Lyton’s scripted physical and mental rapes had some deeper purpose.

  The Diamond remembered his new hope and grim determination when Kott had brought him into the gladiators’ stable. The arena’s straightforward servitude had promised him eventual freedom. He’d wasted time, becoming complacent in a lie.

  The Diamond walked quickly to the balcony. In every direction, black crystalline towers lifted skyward, their flanks shining with lit windows. Between them glowed canyons of light filled with hover cars, chains of open and covered barges, darting cycles, and other small vehicles. A rumble heralded the departure of another starship from a nearby port, its streamlined shape laboring upward until it was safely out of Cedar’s atmosphere.

  Cedar was an old, rich Apex planet, one of the first settled by Terran humans two thousand years ago. Cedar-Saba was a city the size of a small continent, holding billions of people. Eight hundred miles north of Vaclav Sector began the exclusive central enclave of Cedar University, perhaps the greatest school in the League. Certainly one of the most expensive.

  The Diamond glanced north, where the city dissolved into a jagged black horizon backlit by a flat pink-white glow. Not too many years before, on poor, rural Ventana, Jost had been scraping together funds to free a bright young bonder and send him to Cedar University. The Diamond forced away the memory, looking quickly around the garden.

  No one had followed him. Everyone knew his collar had tracers in it. If he wandered, Kott always found him.

  He extended a hand outside the low railing and its invisible windscreen. Quiet, warm air inside the garden gave way to cold winds pushing up his hand. This high up, the buildings bred their own weather. It was autumn in this hemisphere.

  The Diamond thought of slipping headfirst over the edge. Chances were good he’d black out before he reached terminal velocity and never feel impact.

  But this garden crowned a huge building full of bars, casinos, brothels, and the tenements housing their workers. Someone might see him falling. He might survive.

  The Diamond followed the balcony to a gap, a maintenance gate forced open and jammed by a piece of scrap metal. A thin extension walkway spanned this roof to another thirty yards away. The walkway, meant for intermittent use by building cleaners and inspectors, hummed and rattled in the strong wind. It had a control panel on this side of the gulf, activated and somehow locked with a black metal disc the size of his palm.

  Kott meant me to find this.

  The second roof looked dimmer, irregular, full of places to hide or jump. Below the roofline the dark walls glowed with fewer windows. Most of those seemed large and dim. Office space, he thought, or industrial.

  The Diamond stalked onto the cold metal walkway.

  How long since Kott had left him? How long since Kott had called Lyton? Or had Lyton already left his villa near the university and diplomatic district? Was he taking Kott’s call from inside a big gray Rio Sardis limousine even now?

  I am a moron, the Diamond thought. I could have been safely dead long ago. But I believed Kott when he promised to free me after my ten years’ bond was paid. I thought Lyton sold me when he tired of me. Did they plan this from the start? So why is Kott letting me go now?

  Kott had a new master, he’d said. Someone who’d freed him from Lyton. And didn’t want a prize fighting-slave.

  On the way across, the Diamond kept his hands off the walkway’s single rail. The wind bit his skin, whipped his belted robe about his thighs. If the wind took him before he crossed over, he’d welcome it. When he felt the other roof under his bare feet, he clung to its heavier guardrail and blinked away stinging tears.

  The walkway rumbled behind him. The Diamond glanced back to see the small blue-lit control panel flash a command sequence. The walkway retreated from the new roof, pulling back into the far wall. When it locked into place, the black disc flared with purple light and dissolved in a puff of smoke.

  The collar would lead Lyton straight to him. The Diamond couldn’t take it off on his own.

  Four small steps back to the edge. If falling forward into the black gulf was too much, then he could shut his eyes and fall backward into the wind’s embrace.

  Only three steps now. Two. He paused at the last step, catching a high, sharp cry from the roof in front of him.

  Ten

  FROM THIS ANGLE, the Diamond saw past a tall turbine. Steady yellow light shone from a kicked-over lamp, its rays blocked by three moving silhouettes. Two larger figures swung flexible clubs at a smaller one, which dodged lithely but could not escape.

  The Diamond wavered on the edge of his last step and gritted his teeth. Two against one were unfair odds, even with matched opponents.

  Drifting closer across the shadowy, gritty roof, the Diamond heard one of the larger men mutter, “Break his head and be done! But don’t get his blood on you.”

  The second attacker grunted and rocked backward, holding his chin. “You try sandbagging this little elf-whelp!”

  “Gentlemen,” said their target, putting up his fists again. “I’m not Sonta. I’m human. There’s no reason why we can’t work this out. If I somehow owe you money, let’s find a good bar and talk about it.”

  “We got money. To kill you,” said the second man.

  “Ah,” said the target. “Probably not as much as I can give you to not kill me.”

  “I’d kill you as soon as look at you,” said the first attacker. “Cama’s demon spawn!”

  When the man lunged, his target made an odd coughing sound and spat. The thug dodged, cursing. The little glob of spit hit the graveled roof, igniting in a brief rush of golden sparks.

  The Diamond marveled. That trick could have been useful in the arena. How was it done?

  The target laughed, turning to keep both attackers in sight. “You’ll have to touch me first. I won’t make it pleasant.”

  “Your mouth will dry out,” said the second attacker, stalking around the target into the Diamond’s range. “We won’t bleed you, whelp. And in a minute or two you’ll be ash and a scorchmark!”

  Gravel crunched under the Diamond’s foot.

  “Who’s there?” called the first attacker, peering into the roof’s gloom.

  The target looked beyond the two attackers and spotted the Diamond. The target showed unguarded surprise, more in posture than in his vague, dark face. The Diamond briefly wanted to kill him, for alertin
g the thugs.

  The second attacker started to turn.

  Crouching in the man’s own shadow, the Diamond jerked the thug’s ankles out from under him. The fellow went down chin first. Springing over him, the Diamond snapped one foot into the back of the man’s neck. The spine crunched under his weight. Springing forward, he launched into the second attacker.

  “Hey!” said the man, then “Urk!” as his throat collapsed under the edge of the Diamond’s open hand. The Diamond rolled silently, guiding the jerking body down to the gravel.

  “Great Cama,” whispered the target. “You killed them?”

  The Diamond kicked the incriminating light deeper into a corner between the turbine and another raised access hatch and then bent to check his handiwork. One broken neck, one crushed throat. No heartbeats. “Y-yes,” he said, face heating as he stammered.

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  “Wh-wh-why?” The Diamond’s body shook and twitched with the effort to speak. He stared as the thugs’ target eased into the lit corner.

  “Seems to be the night for it.” The young man shrugged. He was dressed in flowing gray and amber fabrics. The fight had ripped his long coat and the collar of his amber tunic. He carried no obvious weapons. A heavy black metal and plastic-web technician’s belt cinched his slim waist, myriad pockets and tools bulking out the belt.

  Young, the Diamond guessed. Early twenties. At least seven inches shorter than his own six-foot-one frame. The youth’s rounded bronze face contrasted with shoulder-length pale-gold curls and grayish-gold eyes. Kott would have ignored him at a bonders’ auction as being too small to fight. He was pretty enough to be someone’s bed toy if his clothing and manner hadn’t screamed freeborn and rich. He reminded the Diamond of an owl he’d seen in one of Jost’s old picture books.

  The strange young man stared up at the Diamond with a mixture of doubt, worry, and startled appreciation. “Er,” he said. “Sorry if I interrupted anything.” He blushed, the golden-brown skin turning deep rose on his cheeks. “I should be going. There are probably more of those maniacs somewhere below. They left float-cycles just around the turbine, if you want to steal one.”

  The Diamond cursed time, ducked back around the turbine, and glanced toward the arena skyscraper. No hue and cry yet, no lights piercing the garden. He returned to the corner, pointing at the youth, then away into the city. “G-g-go,” he said. “I-I-I j-jump.”

  Owl-boy grabbed the Diamond’s shaking arm. “Jump? You don’t have any float-gear! You’ll die!”

  As if to an idiot, the Diamond nodded. “Wa-want t-t-to.”

  “Ah,” said the youth. As if just noticing it, he frowned at the Diamond’s collar. “A bonder. With a bad master?”

  The Diamond nodded again, shrugging out of the youth’s grip. The wind and the black night wouldn’t wait much longer.

  “Hold up,” said Owl-boy, placing his sturdy body between the Diamond and freedom. “You just saved my life, and all you want to do is die?” At the Diamond’s exasperated glare, the youth smiled crookedly. “I think I was sent to help you.”

  “I THINK I was sent to help you,” Val said to his rescuer.

  “Valier,” said Cama inside him. “What are you doing? I will not allow you to commit abuse and murder!”

  “This isn’t murder,” Val answered silently. Just enough light crept upward to show the bleak expression on the other man’s paint-smeared face.

  This close, Val smelled blood, adrenaline-laced sweat, and more noisome odors. This man’s recent life hadn’t been good. A maltreated bonder with no escape but death. Not even death offered freedom if his owner could afford the personality-capture devices probably waiting in the collar. The ruined cosmetics and the collar nagged at Val’s memory. Not one of the Vaclav 17 casino whores, Val decided. The man was more likely a rich man’s abused pet, driven to desperate flight. Val had seen a few such slaves in decadent nightclubs in north Saba.

  “This is mercy, Cama. He deserves a chance at peace, one way or the other! He wants death. I want his body for a couple of hours. It’s a fair bargain.”

  “Valier,” she warned. “This man is not a toy!”

  “I wouldn’t be cruel. And whatever I do to him, he won’t have to endure it for long, now, will he?” Val answered silently.

  “Then let me see him, this wretch you would have me kill or claim.”

  Val stepped forward. The tall bonder retreated. His face and neck came into stark detail, underlit by the lamp Val had found waiting beside the float-cycles. The collar was black leather and plastic webbing, studded with sharp, three-edged black steel blades. Dark hair, caked with drying blood and glitter, tangled on the collar and black robe. Under his painted face, the man’s bone structure was beautiful. His eyes were dark wells of pain and despair.

  In Val’s mind, Cama gasped and then laughed. “Oh yes, Valier, my heart, my own, you have surpassed yourself. Do it. Offer him the kiss of death!”

  “I CAN GIVE you a gift,” said the youth. “It will either kill you quickly or legally free you from your master.”

  “H-how?” The Diamond remained skeptical.

  Owl-boy bit his lower lip and said, “My saliva. My blood on broken skin, or injected. And, er, semen. All three if you want it to take quickly.”

  The Diamond had witnessed many propositions, but this was surely the strangest.

  The youth winced. “I know. The worst pickup line ever. But you’d have an almost perfect chance of infection and very low odds of survival. Patrona Cama’s picky. Maybe one in ten thousand outsiders passes her tests. Few of them try anymore.”

  Another silent glare from the Diamond made the boy snort.

  “What’s in it for me? Are you dim? Just my luck, you’re beautiful and you want to die. I haven’t had a real lover for six years. No human dares on this damned planet. None of them want to chance death from even a kiss. And it’s not like my own kind want to get near me!”

  The Diamond gripped the youth’s upper arms, lifted him up, and moved him to one side. Owl-boy was heavier than he looked.

  “Wait! Don’t you understand? I’m Camalian,” said the youth.

  The thugs had called him “demon spawn” and “elf-whelp.” His spit turned to fire, his blood to poison. What was he?

  The youth exhaled a deep sigh. Then he said quickly, “My people carry a sentient colonial symbiont that gives us, er, certain abilities. We can pass it on to non-Camalians. Most often, it kills. Sometimes it claims. But if it claims you, you’re a Camalian citizen from then on. You want to try?”

  The Diamond looked down at his unlikely liberator. He’d seen the youth’s earlier slyness, had known then what the cost of help would be: his damaged body.

  “Look,” said the Camalian. “I promise not to be cruel, not like what’s already been done to you. I just want to touch another human being for an hour or two. You wanted suicide? A few seconds after you die from this, every cell in your body will burn apart to its component atoms. No one’s bringing you back from that.”

  The Diamond glared at him, insulted. The fiery spit had been some chemistry trick after all.

  “No trick. Watch.” Owl-boy reached up and pulled a hair from the curly blond forelock half hiding his face. “When it remains within range of its Camalian host, the symbiont is stable.” He turned, his eyes catching the lamp glow when he glanced over his shoulder at the Diamond. Walking backward toward the gladiator, the Camalian opened his hand.

  The glittering wisp fell. Tiny gold sparks kindled along its lower edge and flared up in another rush of snuffed-out stars. Not even ash hit the rooftop.

  “If they’d killed me, it would have been the same. Just bigger. Maybe a scorch mark on the roof,” said Owl-boy. “No one returns from Cama’s Fire. On the rare chance you survive, you won’t be a slave. You’ll belong to yourself and Cama, and she’s an easy mistress. If you still want to walk off a roof afterward, I won’t stop you. I swear by Patrona Cama herself.” He held out a hand. �
��I’m Val.”

  The Diamond considered him. The youth was rich and beautiful, and probably too inexperienced and high-strung to be much of a trial in bed. So what if Owl-boy lied to gain a few hours of sex? His wealth might keep the Diamond out of Lyton’s reach just long enough to ensure his own permanent escape. I won’t go back to Lyton, he thought.

  Words were useless and just left the Diamond shaking. Words weren’t what Owl-boy wanted. So the Diamond knelt in front of him in stylized obeisance, head lowered, wrists offered up to invisible bindings. A slave’s gesture he’d not often willingly used. Most of his conquerors had had to beat him down first.

  The younger man gasped.

  For a moment, the Diamond wondered if he’d misjudged. Then the youth’s hands gripped the Diamond’s wrists together tightly, fingernails digging into his skin. So Owl-boy knew about arena bonders and their training. Not surprising, given his location so close to the Vaclav 17 casino. Some savior, he thought. Had Owl-boy seen tonight’s matches and the latest humiliation? Would he recognize him?

  “Do you yield to me?” Owl-boy asked, his tenor voice low and rough, his warm hands locked on The Diamond’s wrists.

  “I-I-I y-yield,” said the Diamond, amazed to find his aching, exhausted body responding as much to the youth’s voice as his touch.

  Owl-boy released him. “Then I claim.”

  Glancing up, the Diamond saw the youth twitching a fold of his ragged gray coat around himself, trying to hide the erection pushing out his trousers. The Diamond read shame and doubt on his face.

  “I-I y-yield w-with j-joy,” the slave said, still kneeling. “M-my ch-ch-choice, V-Val.” When Val looked back at him, incredulous, the Diamond smiled.

  Val shuddered and looked away. The Diamond saw the effort Owl-boy made as he forced his mind back to business. “We can’t stay here,” said the youth, nodding toward the two float-cycles. He rubbed his hands together as if they stung him. “This part’s easy enough,” he muttered, reaching for something on his black belt. “Go check those idiots you killed, and see if you know them.” The easy command in his voice softened. “Please?”