LEGACY RISING

by Rachel Eastwood

  “Dax, stop!” she reprimanded, half-serious. “This is the worst place in Icarus to be without the rebreather!”

  “Shh,” he replied. “No one—Ah!”

  Flywheel came humming and buzzing out of Legacy’s braids, stirred by Dax’s hand. “Blood pressure hypertensive,” he noted, circling the boy’s head. Dax snatched the mechanical dragonfly out of the air, holding him gently and firmly in his fist. “Oxygen level: 81. Warning. Oxygen level: 81.”

  “Dax!” Legacy hissed, whirling. “Put your mask on right now!”

  Dax rolled his eyes and strapped the leather rebreather back onto his face. Then he jammed Flywheel into his pocket and buttoned it shut. That would take care of the robotic tattle. Since when had Flywheel ever worked in a way that was trustworthy and accurate, anyway?

  The domestic district broke into view, the dark, quiet tower of their shared complex looming closer. There was a black-domed carriage in the lot, but the vehicle was quiet, and neither noticed it among the shadows and reduced visibility of rain. Not when they were so distracted already.

  “You’re not going home like this, are you?” Dax asked, one hand running down Legacy’s shoulder as the other braced her hip. The drenched tunic revealed more of her shape than it concealed now. He nuzzled into her braids again, and neither of the pair focused on the winding stairwell so much as they focused on one another.

  “I kind of have to,” Legacy answered, smiling drowsily, eyes half-closed. Thank God, she couldn’t help but think. Thank God we got through that . . . weird patch of jealousy over an accidental kiss, once! Or twice!

  Legacy stepped onto the stairs, and Dax followed eagerly.

  “So, you’re going to go home, and maybe wake up your parents, wearing this weird shirt-dress thing, and all muddy, and no shoes, and tell them you just went for a little walk?” he teased, dipping down to deliver a light kiss to her earlobe. He rubbed his thumbs along her sides, inching toward her nether region. They emerged onto the porch of Unit #2. “Come up to #7. Get a shower. I’ll lend you some pants at least.”

  “Do you think that me, coming home in your pants, would be less alarming to them?” The couple crested the porch of Unit #3, and Dax stooped again, nuzzling her ear with a playful, eager mouth. Legacy sighed. “Dax . . . put your damn mask back on!”

  “Leg . . .” Dax sighed, dipping down to kiss her throat again. He was not intending to put his mask back on anytime soon. He’d rather die. He spun the girl in his arms and pinned her body to his, binding her there, descending passionately, and Legacy surrendered. His hand roved over her mound, etched in clear detail by the cloying fabric of her tunic, and his thumb nestled between her labia to play. She let him, once or twice; having no bedroom wall, and nothing but a cold, weak spray for a shower spigot, she’d never really taken the opportunity to explore her own body before. And now . . .

  “M-maybe I could come up to #7,” she allowed, clearing her throat and turning from him to mount porch #4. “Just for a shower.”

  “Exa Legacy! Halt!” a formal, authoritarian voice commanded.

  The couple froze.

  There were five sentries in the royal uniform of black turtleneck and navy arm band.

  Dax’s face lifted from Legacy’s neck, pale and infuriated. He wouldn’t lose her again. Not again.

  “You’re under arrest by order of the Duke of Icarus,” one of the sentries announced, producing thin, golden shackles from his holster, the chain unusually long and delicate. It was almost like a necklace. The other sentries had drawn their guns and trained them on Dax as well as Legacy, anticipatory of a scuffle. Legacy recognized these guns. Dazzler muskets, their barrels bulbed to operate in rain. And at this height, on such an insecure structure, being disoriented by super-bright light could be fatal.

  “Under what charge?” Dax demanded, punctuating the question with a rasping cough.

  Legacy twisted to look at him. She touched his face, and her eyes were large and shining with plea. “Don’t fight—”

  One of the sentries grasped her free wrist, slapping a cuff over it.

  “No!” Dax yelled.

  “Under the charge of trespassing, sir,” the sentry answered his question.

  “It’s okay,” Legacy told him, even though she was certain that this was a lie. The last time she’d seen the duke, it had been with a suspended sentence. Now she would likely endure the sentence of trespassing, breaking and entering, theft, destruction of public property, and vandalism, if not treason and conspiracy, all combined.

  The sentry took her other hand and cuffed it as well. She could see the way Dax’s chest rose and fell with dangerous rapidity. She saw his body tense and shift and knew what was going to happen next.

  “It’s okay!” she reiterated desperately.

  But Dax lunged for the offending sentry, and was immediately dazzled from every angle. The boy collapsed, groping for anything solid, and by the time he found the door to Unit #4 and used it to pull himself upright again—by the time the colorless clouds in his vision cleared—Legacy was gone, and the sun was rising. He lurched to a stand and staggered down the stairwell, blinking back the spots in his eyes. He was going to the CC headquarters. He was going to get her back.

  “I don’t understand,” Legacy said as the sentries led her into the main castle. She wasn’t even wearing a blindfold. Her hands were bound in front of her rather than behind, which also seemed terribly inefficient and hazardous, and the cuffs weren’t even particularly heavy or uncomfortable.

  The grand hall churned with busy automata, hurriedly banging dust from drapes and replacing wilted flower arrangements with fresh ones.

  “They’re preparing for the coronation, Miss Legacy,” the sentry at her left arm answered.

  “No, I don’t understand why I’m here,” she replied, fearing that they were leading her to the royal throne room for her death sentence. But a stairwell came into view. She didn’t remember a stairwell on the walk to the throne room before. “Why aren’t I being taken to the . . .” She winced, remembering the grim walls, iron bars, and the pile of moldy rags. “. . . dungeon?”

  “Earl Kaizen’s order, Miss Legacy,” the sentry answered.

  “. . . Kaizen had me arrested?”

  “That’s correct.”

  The stairwell twisted and spat them out in another wing of the castle, this lined by dutiful automata, including the blonde, blushing boy one, whom she recognized from CIN-3. She’d tousled his hair in passing. He’d had the key removed from his back.

  But how did he . . . know? How did he know without the duke knowing? And should I be relieved?

  “Where are you taking me?” Legacy asked as the sentries delivered her to the second door. They knocked.

  “Earl Kaizen’s chamber,” the sentry replied.

  The door swung open, and there he was. Legacy had willed herself to forget about him, and now she was confronted again. She had expected stormy eyes, the sullen mouth, and petulant gestures. But . . .

  “Legacy,” Kaizen breathed. He looked peaceful. “Come in, come . . . What are you wearing?”

  “Will you be needing our supervision, Earl Kaizen?” one of the sentries asked.

  Kaizen glared over at the troop as if annoyed to be reminded of their presence. “Of course not,” he snapped. “You can go.”

  Legacy let him take her arm; the pressure of his fingers was delicate enough. Her eyes were thundering, but she let him lead her inside and close the door before speaking.

  “Kaizen,” she addressed, harsh with disapproval. “I’m in manacles.”

  “Technically, these are much lighter weight than manacles,” he differentiated, touching the chains which held the cuffs together. “It’s a new model, and I rather like them. Apparently, they’re a friendly improvement on the original ‘manacle’ design. Now, seriously, what are you wearing?”

  “Kaizen!” she snapped. “You had me arrested in the middle of the night!”

  “Shortly before dawn—”


  “And brought to your bedroom!” she fumed. “Don’t you know how this looks? It looks like kidnapping!”

  “But you really did break several laws tonight,” he mentioned with the pretense of casualness, directing his dark eyes to the floor. “In a way, I’m doing you a favor by neglecting to inform my father.”

  “Blackmail!” she cried. “Extortion!”

  “You’re just exhausted and . . . barefoot, and . . . terribly, terribly dirty,” Kaizen said, excusing her anger with a wave of his hand. “I can’t let you get into my bed with feet like those.”

  Legacy gaped. “I’m not—”

  Kaizen smiled. “Relax, Legacy,” he told her. “I just . . . wanted to see you. And I couldn’t . . . think of another way, and I . . . know it’s pathetic. I know it’s an abuse of power, and city resources, and . . .” He shrugged, still not meeting her eyes as he spoke. He seemed so young. “You never returned my message.”

  Legacy’s eyes softened. Twenty-four, and he didn’t yet know how to handle the slightest romantic upset.

  “So, you’re going to let me go, then?”

  “Of course I’m going to let you go.” Kaizen rolled his eyes. “But let me ask you a question, now. Have you ever had a hot bath?”

  Legacy frowned with confusion. She’d never even heard the word ‘bath’ used in conjunction with a human being. “A ‘bath’ is something you give a dirty countertop,” she answered doubtfully.

  Kaizen snorted and flashed her an impish grin. His smiles were so rare and dazzling. It was staggering to catch one. As disorienting as the beam of an ultra-bright musket. “Look,” he said. “Just let me give you a hot bath. Then, you can go home, if you really want to. I promise.”

  The third doorway in the hall led to the washroom. Or what appeared to be a washroom, though Legacy had never seen a washroom such as this. The gleaming tile floor. The expansive mirrors. Bouquets of flora, just like the stuff throughout the castle. The clawed feet of a gigantic porcelain sink, lined in robotic implements, pistols of soap and sponge arms. But the sink had somehow come removed from its countertop and was standing alone.

  “A detachable sink?” Legacy queried. “That seems awfully unsanitary.”

  Kaizen grinned. “It’s . . . not a sink, Legacy. It’s a bath.” He reached for its spigot and wrenched a valve, loosing what, to Legacy, seemed a torrent by comparison with her own spigot, back at Unit #4. The shimmering liquid, cleaner than any she’d ever seen, too, was billowing with steam. “Trust me. You’re about to be the most relaxed you’ve ever been in your entire life.”

  Kaizen plucked a rose from one of the decorative vases, casually pulling the petals away and sprinkling them into the water. It filled the room with a dizzying yet subtle aroma, and made the water exceptionally beautiful.

  “Have you never seen a rose before, either?” Kaizen asked, knowing full well that she had not. “Well, all you really need to know is that they’re very red.” He plucked the final petal from its head and stroked the velvet blossom across Legacy’s cheek. Her eyelashes drooped. “And they’re very soft. Here.” He took her hand. “Let me help you. Step up.”

  Legacy lifted a leg and climbed into the bubbling tub. Chills ran up her legs. She hadn’t known that her feet had been clammy until they were submerged in this water.

  “Isn’t it extraordinary,” he whispered into her ear. “Here. Lift your arms now. Just relax. Let’s get rid of this.”

  Suddenly so drowsy--it had been a long, eventful night, and she hadn’t slept yet, and the heat reminded her of this, uncoiling her bunched muscles into loose ropes--Legacy lifted her arms and closed her eyes.

  A delicate rip traveled up her back, and her eyes bulged open.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  Kaizen leaned over her shoulder, and she saw a small knife in his hand.

  “Relax,” he reminded her. “Just relax.”

  Legacy took a deep breath and closed her eyes, feeling less certain now.

  Kaizen swept the knife along the right sleeve of the tunic, then along the left, and the thing fell away from her body, crumbling into his hand and then tossed to the side.

  Legacy’s cheeks flooded with blush. She was standing in the column of steam, hair loose on her shoulders, utterly nude.

  “Re-- ahem-- relax,” Kaizen reiterated, clearing his throat when his voice cracked. “Just . . .” He abandoned her side to twist the faucet shut again. “Sink into the water, and let all your worries float from your body. This tub will do all the work for you.”

  She had to admit, she was curious. What would it feel like, to be enveloped in the gentle heat?

  Legacy lowered herself into the water, and an involuntary moan slipped from her mouth.

  “I t-told you,” Kaizen replied. She heard the washroom door open. “Just close your eyes. Let it carry you off.” Then, the washroom door closed, and she was alone.

  Legacy reclined along the edge of the tub and obeyed.

  A sponge skated automatically along her shoulder blades, trailing lather down her back and chest. Her experience of washing herself, to date, had been cracked slivers of soap bars only giving a cursory scrub to her skin. But here, liquid soap drizzled and was tenderly massaged into her scalp, then flushed out with cups of hot water. She felt as if years of stress, much less dirt, coursed from her. She could feel her heartbeat in her fingertips and toes now. The sponge plunged into the water, separated her legs, and scrubbed each foot, each calf, behind each knee, and then along the inner thighs.

  When the sponge moved to her most private part, it brushed gently back and forth, and Legacy couldn’t help but allow her lips to gape and her head to fall back onto the porcelain rim of the tub. She still felt sensitive and unsatisfied from the foreplay Dax had started. Her hips tilted subconsciously back and forth against the pleasant pressure, and the mechanism responded, massaging with more vigor until Legacy bucked and uttered a small, sharp cry, climaxing--if that’s what it was. She’d never experience this before, but it was as if a fantastic weight had settled on her, and then been alleviated.

  She sighed deeply, and the sponge hesitated before retracting into the air.

  The cleansing complete, she simply floated there for several minutes, eyes closed, smiling. Sleepy. So sleepy. Wow. The wealthy really did have everything.

  A door opened, pulling her from the ink of near-dreams.

  “Are you ready to get out?” Kaizen’s voice came from across the washroom. “I’ve got your towel.”

  “Yeah,” Legacy replied with eyes still closed. She sighed one last time. She wished she never had to leave here. She’d forgotten Dax in this moment, just as much as she’d forgotten Kaizen in the reconnaissance of Old Earth. For all the adventure and strife Dax offered, Kaizen had an all-consuming luxury at his beck and call. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

  Legacy stood, her heavy eyelids opening. She was light-headed with exhaustion now, and Kaizen wrapped her in a large, white towel. Even the towels here were decadent.

  As he helped her from the steaming basin of rose water, Legacy noted that his right sleeve was soaking wet to the elbow, and realized, with a hitch in her breath, that it hadn’t been the mechanical sponge utensil. It had been him. He had been the one to finish what Dax had started.

  “I brought you something,” he said when they returned to his chambers. Before, she’d been too angry to observe her surroundings, but now, with the euphoria of the steaming bathtub deep in her muscles, she took in everything. The plush carpet. The sprawling bed. The polished desk. The wide open bay window facing out onto the castle grounds, opposite the fireplace. “It’s silk,” he went on, opening his armoire. “I noticed you’re always wearing, forgive me, but—I noticed you’re always wearing such coarse fabrics.”

  Legacy was on the verge of rebuttal when he turned, holding a strapless, loose, burgundy-colored shift dress, light, casual, yet sensual and elegant. She lost her breath and nodded. She didn’t even want to tell him that
he shouldn’t have. Instead she said, “Thank you.”

  He came to her, gently unwound the towel, and pulled the dress over her head. Again, it was something she’d never felt before. This material was so fine and gossamer, it brought to her realization how crude the material of her best dress was.

  “Thank you,” she said again.

  His finger traced her cheekbone. “You’re welcome.” He stared down at her for a moment, at a loss for words, and his eyes darkened. Then he swallowed. “Come with me to see the conservatory!” he invited, brightening.

  Legacy gave a slight shake of her head. “Don’t you have earl things to be doing?” she had to ask. “Your coronation is tomorrow, isn’t it?”

  “It’ll be fine,” he evaded.

  “But I’m a prisoner, I’m blacklisted, I’m a known insurgent,” she pressed. “You can’t just take me on a tour of the archipelagos! Kaizen.” She met his eyes. “I shouldn’t be here, and you know it. You can’t just hide me.”

  He held her gaze, took a deep breath, and nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Just come to the conservatory with me. I have to show you our birds. I just have to. If anyone sees you, I’ll lie, okay? I won’t tell them about Old Earth. I won’t. I’ll tell them that I’ve kidnapped you. I’ll tell them that I can’t stop thinking about you, and I’ve totally lost my mind, all because you never returned my message.”

  Legacy’s eyebrows twisted with sympathy. “Kaizen,” she said softly, apologetically. “I just—You know—”

  “I know,” he interrupted coldly, attempting to cut her off, unwilling to hear the words from her mouth again. “I know you can’t.” His countenance shifted, and she saw the way he shook it off with real effort. The purposeful breath he took, the squaring of his shoulders. She recognized the gesture as one of her own. “It’s all right,” he concluded firmly. “I just want you to see the birds.”