Omega Games

by S. L. Viehl

  Mercy made a rude sound. “She’s not trade. This is Resa, our . . . houseguest.”

  “Greetings, Resa.” Eka stood up and stretched. “I’d stay and chat, but I do need to rehydrate.” She rolled four of her eyes and wandered into the adjoining lavatory.

  “What did she mean by . . . ?” I paused as I worked out what Eka had said. “Oh.”

  “I’d better introduce you to the other girls,” Mercy said, heading out of the room, “before you end up under one of them.”

  Six

  From the pleasure rooms we walked to the main lobby, where Mercy’s unoccupied employees gathered and waited for interested patrons to enter and make a selection from them.

  “Normally we take appointments only,” Mercy told me. “Since Davidov started the blockade, though, I’ve allowed unscheduled walk-ins. Sex temporarily relieves anxiety, and these are anxious times.”

  “Do the other females on colony resent your business?”

  “There are a couple of puritans who’d like to shut me down,” she admitted. “But I think most of the women on Trellus are secretly grateful for us. We run an honest, clean house, but more importantly, we’re discreet.”

  Mercy greeted several females who were lounging on couches and divans inside the large and opulently furnished room. Some were reading data-pads;others were engaged in some form of personal grooming. A few appeared drowsy, as if they’d just awakened. All of them were in a state of provocative dress, and looked at me with varying degrees of interest and not a small amount of apprehension.

  “Girls, this is Resa,” Mercy told them. “She’s not a trick, and she doesn’t spit.”

  “See?” One of the girls nudged another. “I told you there were more like Mercy.”

  “That’s right,” Mercy said. “Now forget you saw her and don’t say a word to anyone outside the house about her being here, or you’re fired. Without severance or reference.”

  I didn’t make a grand impression. A few of them waved or greeted me before returning to their reading, grooming, or dozing.

  Eka’s unfamiliarity with my species made me curious. “Are you now the only Terran on Trellus?” I asked her as we moved into another room, one filled with security monitors and equipment panels.

  “No, there’s Drefan, or what’s left of him. A couple of mercs from the homeworld stop in now and then, too.” Mercy went to one of the consoles and began pulling up various images on the screen. The images showed rooms occupied by males and females who were coupling. “First time they land, they hear about me and come looking for personal service, the bigoted bastards. Pisses them off to find out that I just run the place.”

  “You don’t play tricks?”

  She gave me a startled look, and then laughed. “That’s a good way to put it. No, I haven’t played with anyone but Cat since he and I got together.”

  It was my turn to feel surprised. “You are wife to that Omorr?”

  “I am girlfriend to that Omorr,” she corrected. “We were going to make it permanent, but the war got in the way, then Davidov.”

  My gaze went to one of the monitors, and the three males and one female it showed in a very complicated position. “Do you watch all the tricks with your girls?”

  “Not because I’m a voyeur, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s a safety precaution, because . . . we get some rough trade through here.” She tapped some keys and the image changed to an exterior view of the colony. She pointed to one of the darker domes. “That’s Omega Dome, Drefan’s place. Commonly referred to as Gamers. We’ll have to go over there for the meet. He doesn’t ever leave it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’s a proud, stubborn jackass. He’s also disabled.” She opened a com channel. “Cat, any progress on that meet?”

  “We have company,” the Omorr said. “He’d like to speak with you.”

  Another male voice growled, “We want the female. Bring her out.”

  Mercy closed the channel. “See? I knew it. I knew it.” She reopened it. “How nice of you boys to stop in. We have an entire house filled with females, so take your pick. Just don’t hurt them or remove them from the property, and make sure you have enough credits to pay for what you like.”

  “I want the female from the wrecked ship,” the man replied. “She’s the one he’ll pay for.”

  Mercy muted the channel and turned to me. “This walking hemorrhoid and his crew are Gnilltak raiders. Your basic scum of the universe. They’ve been stranded here ever since Davidov locked down the colony. He destroyed their ship, too. Needless to say, they’re not a cheery bunch.” She enabled the audio.

  “—her now, Mercy,” the raider’s leader was bellowing. “Or we’ll start burning some new holes in your whores. Starting with your pretty boy.”

  Mercy switched the monitor to the reception room, where a group of armed males had weapons trained on the females. One hulking male stood behind Cat and had a pulse rifle pressed against the Omorr’s head.

  “Shit,” she said softly, tugging at the silver loop piercing her eyebrow before she reopened the channel. “All right, I’m coming out with her.”

  “I can deal with him,” I told her as I removed the Lok-teel from under my tunic. “Give me a moment.”

  “Oh, no. You’re staying here. I’m not going to let them shoot up the place.” She opened one of the bins under the console and took out two pulse pistols, tucking both inside her jacket. “They were stupidnot to disarm Cat. Between the two of us we can—” She looked at me and shrieked.

  “It’s all right. It’s a type of mask.” I went still as the Lok-teel enveloped my head and molded itself to my skull, darkening and refining itself into the broader countenance of an older woman.

  Mercy had gone so pale she looked like a negative of herself. “That’s really not eating your face?”

  “No, it’s only covering it.” It fanned out over my hair, mimicking it as it turned a pale gold, and crept over my eyes, shaping new ones that were wide, pleasant, and pale blue. Although the telepathic mold had covered my entire face with a mask exactly matching the image I had projected to it, I could breathe and see through it.

  Mercy stared, appalled and fascinated. “You’re sure that’s not smothering you?”

  “Quite sure.” Once it had finished, I smiled with my new mouth. “This face belongs to a Terran female named Ana Hansen.”

  “Maybe you should give it back.”

  “It is only a replica of her countenance, created by the Lok-teel—the thing on my face—to cover my own features,” I told her. “I thought it best to use a real person, in the event my identity is checked. Ana is an administrator on K-2.”

  “But how could it . . . never mind. You can explain it to me later.” She took another pistol from the bin and tried to put it in my hands. “Take it. If the mask doesn’t work, you’ll need it.”

  “I thank you, but I prefer to use my own weapons.” I showed her my own blade harness. “I have Jorenian field and combat training.”

  Her jaw sagged. “A Terran, fighting for Joren?”

  “I was a battlefield surgeon with Teulon Jado’s forces,” I clarified. “On Akkabarr, during the rebellion. “

  “A patcher and a soldier. You get more interesting by the millisecond, Cherijo.” New respect glinted in her eyes. “When we go out there, let me do the talking. If at any time I do this”—she made a small hand gesture—”attack to disable.”

  We returned to the reception room, where the raiders were waiting with their hostages.

  “You took your time, Mercy.” The leader, a large, benign-looking humanoid with a wide frame and soft brown and orange hair covering most of his derma, shoved the end of his rifle hard against Cat’s head. The pleasant expression in his liquid brown eyes and the mellow beauty of his voice made his actions seem that much more obscene. “You getting tired of Snake-Face?”

  “In your dreams, Pus-breath,” Mercy said. She didn’t flinch when the raider fired directly
over her head.

  “My name,” he shouted, “is Posbret.”

  “Whatever.” Mercy studied her fingernails. “You wanted to see the female from the crash.” She jerked her head toward me. “There she is.”

  The raider shoved Cat away from him and walked up to me. He had to bend over to look into my face. His breath smelled like the flowers on Joren, and his eyes tugged at my heart with their soulful beauty. “She doesn’t look at all like that clone slut pictured in the bounty relays.”

  “She is, however,” Mercy said, “the female who was in the crash. You can check with my dreds if you like.”

  Perfumed breath blasted my Lok-teel mask as the raider demanded, “What are you called?”

  “Ana Hansen,” I lied politely. “I’m an administrator on K-2.” I didn’t struggle as he grabbed the front of my tunic and lifted me off my feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mercy put a hand on Cat’s nearest appendage, as if to hold him back.

  “You don’t look anything like the one he wants.” The raider’s expression turned tragically sad, which I interpreted as a scowl. “What are you doing here?”

  I had not prepared a cover story, so I told him a carefully worded version of the truth.

  “My husband and I are sojourning together,” I said. “We stopped here to visit our friend.” I glanced at Mercy, to make him believe that she was the friend in question. “The trader in orbit told us that no one was permitted to land on Trellus. When we ignored his advice, he fired on us. We had to make an emergency landing, and the crash destroyed our vessel. We are stranded here now.”

  “So are we, curse that mud-sucking Terran up there.” Posbret’s grip loosened. “Where is this husband of yours now?”

  “Drefan has him over at Omega Dome,” Mercy said. “Are you satisfied, or should I draw some stick figures?”

  For a moment I thought the Gnilltak might not release me. Then he abruptly let go, and I dropped to the floor. Cat grabbed me and kept me from landing on my face. In doing so the Omorr felt the strap of my blade harness, and gave me a wary look.

  “Watch your hide, Terran.” The Gnilltak raider shouldered his rifle and left, his men filing out behind him.

  While Cat repaired the damage Posbret had inflicted on the house security grid, Mercy sent her frightened girls off duty and cleared the remaining customers out of the house.

  “We’re closed for the rest of the day because I said so,” she told one male as the disgruntled tricks departed. “Keep giving me grief and I’ll cancel the free return visit I credited to your account—and call your spouse to let her know how much you enjoy being whipped before you mate.”

  Before we left for the meeting, Mercy showed me a room in a private, well-monitored section of the house. The furnishings appeared more subdued than those in the pleasure rooms, but I preferred the restful textures and colors. After living for so long on a world of white and blue ice, vivid colors unsettled me. Some combinations even nauseated me.

  “These will be your quarters. Mine are right through there”—she pointed to a door panel— “and Cat is across the hall.”

  I removed the Ana Hansen mask from my face, and the Lok-teel became a blob again and slid under my collar.

  “The room terminal and the emergency transmitter are voice-activated,” Mercy continued, “and we’ll keep ours connected with yours. If anything happens, you only have to call out and Cat or I will be in here in two seconds.”

  “What could happen that I would need you so quickly?” I asked, and saw a flash of raw emotion pass over her face. Fear, and something like outrage. “Mercy?”

  “Nothing.” She handed me a stack of dark blue garments. “We look to be about the same size, so these should fit you. Get washed up and changed while I arrange our escort.”

  She left me in the room, and I made use of the cleansing unit before I put on the tunic and trousers she had given me. I decided to take the Lok-teel with me, in the event I needed to disguise my features again. After I tucked it under my tunic, I tidied my hair. Duncan preferred it down and loose, and often brushed it out himself in the evenings. Nerves and something else made me begin separating my hair into sections.

  My fingers itched to do something. Something I had never done. Weave.

  Slowly, without any conscious intention on my part, my fingers did just that: They curled around the sections and wove them together, in and out of each other, turning all the loose hair into a cable. A brief search turned up some jeweled clips, which I used to secure the cable’s loops to the back of my head.

  Not a cable. A braid.

  I looked at my image in the reflecting plas above the vanity unit. I had been allowed to keep my long hair among the vral, as they feared me and the effects of my amnesia, but . . . I could not remember learning how to weave it like this.

  Iisleg women do not braid their hair. They cannot. They wear it too short.

  Dark blue eyes stared back at me, unblinking, unforgiving. I am not an Iisleg woman.

  I reached out to the plas, touching the slick surface with my fingertips. The woman on the other side did the same, but at the very last moment her hand became a fist and smashed into the plas, punching through it and reaching for my throat—

  “Cherijo?”

  I blinked, and the shattered plas became whole, and the woman inside it became my reflection again.

  Mercy came to stand behind me. She looked as angry as she had when I’d first arrived. “That stupid mule-headed hermit agreed to a meeting, but he wants to see only you. He’ll allow you to bring a drone escort for protection.”

  I noted her white lips and the hands curled tightly against her sides. “Protection from what?”

  “Posbret and every other credit-hungry raider on this rock, I suppose.” As she shrugged, her gaze dropped away from mine. “You ready?”

  I turned my back on the thing in the mirror. “Yes.”

  Four of Mercy’s drednocs escorted me out of the brothel and through the pressurized access ways that connected most of the colony. I argued against so many—surely one was more than enough—but she was adamant.

  “Drefan is being particularly unfriendly, even for him,” she told me. “I don’t know what he’s planning, but I want you back here as soon as possible. Husband or no husband. Or Cat and I are coming after you.”

  I thought the abrupt turnaround in her attitude toward me was rather touching. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay at Drefan’s dome? It would mean less trouble for you.”

  “You”—she poked her finger at my sternum— “are still in debt to me. You come back.”

  I suited up—another precaution that Mercy insisted on—and followed two of the drednocs into the long, transparent corridor of plas leading to Omega Dome. The other two battle drones followed me, the flickering lights from their chassis dancing across the convex interior of the access way.

  Mercy had programmed the drones to respond to my inquiries, so I asked, “How long will it take to reach Omega Dome?”

  “At current speed, one minute, forty-two seconds, “ the drone replied. As it did, the glowing halo of energy around its upper sensor case changed color from purple to green.

  “What is the significance of your halo colors?”

  “This color indicates this unit is in standard operational mode.” The drone’s halo turned purple again. “This color indicates this unit is in battle mode.”

  I looked at the other drednocs. All of their halos glowed purple. “Are you expecting a confrontation? “

  “This unit cannot expect,” it told me. “Current operational modes were included in programmed orders to escort Terran female designated Resa to Omega Dome.”

  Mercy had put them all in battle mode before we’d left her dome. I needed to discover what my host feared enough to surround me with four drones ready to kill something. “Is there a threat-identification protocol in your current program?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Define identification
parameters,” I said.

  “Pass code required.”

  I had no idea what code Mercy had used to safeguard the information, or why she felt a need to do so. “Cancel previous inquiry.”

  The drone’s halo turned green for a moment as it processed my request. At the same time, I heard a hissing sound and turned toward the air lock we were passing in time to see a reptilian being launch itself at us.

  It hit the drednoc I had been questioning, which fell sideways in front of me, its grapplers slipping on the oily, scaled hide of the attacker. I jumped back, colliding with the drone behind me, and then I was snatched up and held above the fray.

  “Put me down,” I ordered. The drone ignored me.

  The attacker, a huge Tingalean, punched one of its stunted arms through the fallen drednoc’s armored chassis. Its limb went through the alloy as if it were worn cloth. With a twist it seized and ripped out the drone’s command core. The drednoc instantly shut down and became inert.

  The being looked up at me and bared two dagger-long fangs dripping with poison. Its eyes were black and lidless, which made the dark blood rimming them easy to spot. Only a serious head injury caused that sort of bleeding, even in reptilian life-forms.

  “I am a healer,” I said in a calm, clear voice. “Stop this and I will help you.”

  Purple light filled the access way as the drone holding me wrapped its extensors around me. The other drones converged on the Tingalean from either side, but it slithered out from under them and struck at the tripod of my drone, trying to unbalance it.

  “Stand down,” I called out to the drones. “It may be hurt.”

  The drednocs did not respond to my command but raised their weapons. Pulse fire struck the reptilian in the back, and it screamed before it reversed itself and darted back into the air lock. The door panels slid shut before the drones could follow. After several fruitless attempts to open the air lock doors by the other drones, the drednoc holding me carefully set me down on my feet.