Gloriosa was, as usual, completely serious. Michael repressed a smile. Frankie frowned harder.
Frankie and he shared a bed most nights. He liked Frankie. He liked her a lot. Actually, now that he thought about it (and he had thought about it quite a bit), he was crazy about her. She was smart, pleasant, looked on the bright side and she was gorgeous, in a rangy, long-limbed muscular sort of way. Not everybody liked that look but Michael loved it. He didn’t want to make Frankie unhappy and truthfully, the thought of sex with Lydia Prescott Jones repelled him. Lydia Prescott Jones was controlling, self-centered and completely unconcerned with the feelings of others, a true sociopath.
Frankie, though, was a professional, just like him, and both of them knew that getting the job done sometimes required doing things that you otherwise might prefer not to do. If it turned out to be necessary to make so-called love to Lydia Prescott Jones, Frankie was not going to stand in the way.
Gloriosa, on the other hand, saw little confluence between sex and her own feelings. She had been trained from an early age to provide sexual services and though she had truly hated Esau Kane and the nobility who he shared her with, she had liked the sex. It was something she was good at and took pride in. Sex had validated her, giving her, in her own mind, worth as a human being.
“It probably won’t come to that,” Michael said. “I do have another plan.”
The Adventurer’s Club employed a catering service named Lisa Robalo Gourmet for their little get togethers. It was a large outfit with a large staff that rotated from job to job. This made it easy for Frankie, wearing a black and white uniform with the L/G logo on the front, to wander into the kitchen and pretend to be one of the crew. The manager frowned at her once, then shrugged.
Michael sat at a table, sipping champagne while the fights progressed, with Gloriosa seated demurely at his side. Solomon Towne came over once to say hello. Devlin nodded to him from across the room; Michael lifted his glass in a salute and nodded back. Lydia Prescott Jones gave him a heavy-lidded glance, which he barely acknowledged. Lydia frowned and seemed annoyed. Michael took some small satisfaction from that.
After his fight a few nights ago, Curly was no longer matched against beginners. His opponent this evening had a record of seven wins and only two losses, but the bout ended almost as quickly as the last. Before the first round was over, Curly flipped his opponent over his hip, rolled him onto his back and trapped the other man in an armbar, who immediately tapped out then rose slowly to his feet, grimacing and clutching his elbow. The man’s sponsor glared at Curly from across the other side of the cage as Curly raised both hands over his head, bounced a little on the balls of his feet and gave the crowd a feral grin.
Frankie worked the room, taking orders and offering wine, champagne and finger food from silver trays. She soon arrived at Lydia Prescott Jones’ table. Michael’s augmented hearing could clearly pick up what was said. “Would you like anything else, Madame?”
Lydia by now appeared at least mildly intoxicated, though she had drunk only a little wine, presumably mixing the alcohol with the products of her own booster glands. She peered down at her empty glass and frowned. “Prawn vindaloo,” she said. “Hot. No more wine for the moment.”
Frankie didn’t ask Lynette Chapman or Jeremy Baylor if they would like something. Being servants, it was Lydia’s prerogative to order for them. Each had small plates of various hors d’oeuvres sitting in front of them, however, and barely touched glasses of wine.
Frankie nodded and walked to the next table, passing very close to Lynette Chapman as she did so. A few moments later, Lynette absently rubbed a spot on her back that appeared to be itching. Approximately six minutes later, Frankie re-appeared, carrying a covered tray. She placed the tray down in front of Lydia and removed the cover. “Will this be satisfactory, Madame?” she asked.
Lydia gingerly dipped a fork into the sauce and raised it to her lips. She closed her eyes and gave a deep, satisfied sigh. “Excellent,” she said.
Frankie smiled. “Very good,” she said, and walked off, this time passing close behind Jeremy Baylor, who, like Lynette, soon rubbed a spot on his side that appeared to be mildly irritated.
Excellent, indeed, Michael thought. According to Horst Mickelson, the incubation period of the tailored virus that he had concocted was approximately three days. Jeremy and Lynette might suffer symptoms of mild fever and lethargy while the virus infected their brains. Within a week, their neural networks would be inactive.
Hopefully.
It might not work and it might also work too well. It might kill them both but Michael thought they would probably prefer to be dead than continue to live on as slaves. Regardless, the Empire seemed to be at war with an unknown enemy and in war, there are sometimes casualties. If it came to that, this would not be the first time that hostages and victims died during an attempt at rescue.
Lydia peered at Lynette Chapman and gave her a sly smile. “Drink,” she said. Without expression, Lynette picked up her glass of wine and sipped at it. Lydia frowned. “Drink more,” she said. “All of it.” Again, without expression, Lynette drained the glass.
Lydia smiled widely. “Now eat,” she said, and glanced at Jeremy. “Both of you. When we get home, you’re going to need your strength.”
Little happened for the next few days. Michael—or Luciano Barrad—continued with his assumed life as a dissolute playboy, wandering from party to casino to the race track to his private cabana at the beach. Six days later, Romulus awakened him from a sound sleep. “Unfortunate news has just arrived.” Both Michael and Frankie, who was asleep at his side, came awake instantly. Romulus went on without pause. “Lydia Prescott Jones has been murdered. According to reports, she’s been torn to pieces.”
“Any other details?”
“I am monitoring the private police bands but they seem reluctant to discuss the particulars. Lydia Prescott Jones is an important person. Her family has great influence. The affair is being handled as discreetly as possible. The media is so far unaware.”
Michael rose to his feet and began to dress. “Get me in,” he said.
Romulus’ voice seemed to hesitate. “Of course,” Romulus said.
A wig, some nose putty and lifts in his shoes altered Michael’s appearance enough so that facial recognition software and even close acquaintances would be unlikely to recognize him. He arrived on the scene twenty minutes later, gave the officers guarding the perimeter his codes and was allowed into the house.
“Arcturus,” Michael said. “Fancy seeing you here.”
The bedroom was a mess. Blood was splattered on the walls, sheets and blankets strewn randomly about. Two small tables were overturned and a very ancient Chinese vase lay shattered on the floor. The police reports had exaggerated somewhat; Lydia Prescott Jones’ was not torn to pieces. She had been strangled and then stabbed through the abdomen with an antique saber, pinning her to the mattress. Gregory James lay naked and dead on the floor. His nose was broken, apparently by a large, unopened bottle of wine that was covered with blood and lay next to the body. His head had been almost completely severed by a makeshift wire garrote, which was still wrapped around his neck.
Arcturus squinted at Michael, then gave him a sour look. “Nice disguise,” he said. “Very professional. Where’s Anson?”
“Back at the ship. I don’t need him for this.”
“No?” Arcturus shrugged. “Apparently, Jeremy Baylor and Lynette Chapman had reason to resent their treatment.”
Murdering one’s employer was strictly against the law. Executing the woman who has kidnapped you, enslaved you and subjected you to numerous episodes of physical abuse, undoubtedly including forced sexual servitude might be viewed somewhat differently. “Where are they?”
“Somewhere else.”
“Ah, I should have known. Somewhere else.”
“We’ll find them,” Arcturus said. “They’re young, inexperienced and on a world very far from their own. They won’t
be able to stay hidden for long.”
“And when you find them, what then?”
“That depends.” A faint smile hovered over Arcturus’ lips. “What would you suggest?”
“I very much fear that the two miscreants will die in an explosion, while resisting arrest. Meanwhile, two young people who only slightly resemble them will be delivered to my ship.” He smiled thinly and looked Arcturus in the eye. “Unharmed,” he added.
“Miscreants…” Arcturus chuckled, cleared his throat, surveyed the destroyed room and then slowly smiled. “We’ll see what we can do.”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way,” Michael said. “I have confidence in you.”
Chapter 17
Arcturus called two days later. He looked pleased. “They were harder to find than I expected but we have them.”
“Where were they?”
“On the beach, hiding in plain sight among a group of very young, very tanned and very beautiful people.”
The young and the beautiful tended to be rich. Hard to blend in with the rich if you don’t have money. “That sounds expensive.”
“Before leaving Lydia Prescott Jones’ estate, they stole everything that they could. It was enough to support them for quite awhile.”
Michael pondered this. Actual money, either paper or coin, was still in use on many of the frontier worlds but the heart of the Empire used only digital credits. “What exactly did they steal?”
Arcturus shrugged. “Jewelry, and some very small but valuable antiques. They found a pawnshop owner with more greed than sense, who was willing to take the pieces and issue credits. He’s been charged with accepting stolen goods.”
“They’re resourceful.”
“No doubt they had been thinking of this for a very long time, on the off chance that they might ever be free of their programming. They had both dyed their hair and taken melanin pills. We caught them on drone surveillance but without the facial recognition software, I’m not sure we would have known them.”
“What now?” Michael asked.
Arcturus gave him a thin smile. “As you requested, we’re going to bring them to you.”
That was a surprise. Despite his offer (demand, really) to take them both on, Jeremy Baylor and Lydia Chapman represented the best lead that Imperial Intelligence had to the nature and extent of the slave trade. Michael would have expected Arcturus to wring them both dry before releasing them to Michael’s custody, if he ever did. “When?”
“We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Jeremy Baylor and Lynette Chapman looked about them with sullen, angry eyes as they walked into the ship. They were silent, wary and withdrawn but both were unharmed, dressed for the beach, in shorts, brightly colored shirts and sandals.
“This way, children,” Arcturus said. They were accompanied by four men in plainclothes, none of whom looked remotely like either soldiers or police. Two were thin, short and bookish, the other two bald and fat. None looked dangerous in the slightest.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” Arcturus said as soon as they had entered into the London’s main lounge. “I will contact you if I need you again.” One of the short ones grinned. All four turned and exited the ship without a word.
Lynette Chapman and Jeremy Baylor stood together in the center of the spacious room, looking around themselves with distaste. “I remember you,” Lynette Chapman said to Michael. The rest of the crew were in the ship’s conference room, watching and listening by vid screen. Both Michael and Arcturus felt that it would be less intimidating that way. Neither Jeremy nor Lynette seemed cowed, however.
“Another pervert,” Jeremy Baylor said.
Michael frowned at him. “Not exactly.”
Jeremy Baylor made a contemptuous sound and looked away. Lynette Chapman continued to examine her surroundings and finally shook her head, a mulish expression on her face. “We’ll fight you,” she said. “We know it’s futile but this time we know what’s coming. We’d rather be dead.”
Michael raised an eyebrow and looked at Arcturus, who said, “Why don’t we all sit down? Perhaps we can convince you that we mean you no harm.”
Jeremy rolled his eyes. Lynette looked grim but both sat on a couch, their knees touching. “Would you like something to eat?” Michael said.
They looked at each other. Jeremy shrugged. “Sure.”
Almost silently, the autochef began to prepare a meal. Arcturus glanced at the unit and frowned.
“First of all,” Michael said, “You might remember that at the last tournament-dinner of the Adventurers Club, both of you suffered a small, sharp pain, either in your back or your side, near the end of the evening.” He waited for them to say something. When both just stared at him, he went on. “One of my associates injected each of you with a tailored virus designed to attack and degrade neural networks. We have no intention of abusing you in any way. We freed you.”
Jeremy and Lynette looked at each other. Jeremy drew a deep breath. “Lydia…she said she loved us. She said she had our best interests at heart and would always take care of us.” He looked as if he were smelling something foul. “Yeah, she said she loved us but sometimes we needed to be disciplined. Then she would torture us and make us have sex with her and her friends.”
“Also, dogs,” Lynette said. “She was a big fan of animal shows.”
Arcturus winced.
“And the other servants, of course,” Jeremy said. “We were a little reward for exceptional performance. That fucker James was the worst.” Jeremy laughed softly. “He was a real sadist, but we showed him.”
Arcturus sighed. “We will not harm you in any way. A case could be made that your retribution was excessive but none of us are going to make it. All we want is the answers to some questions and then you will be returned to your own world and you can get on with your lives.”
Lynette raised an eyebrow, glanced at Jeremy and said nothing. Jeremy shrugged. “So, what do you want to know?”
Lynette and Jeremy were distant cousins and friends from childhood. Their large, extended families frequently spent time together. Lynette and Jeremy grew up with each other and fell in love when they were very young, which their parents and grandparents seemed almost to expect. Certainly, none objected. Both of their families owned large, prosperous farms. They had a pleasant life, watching the crops grow, swimming in the lakes and rivers, riding horses, making love beneath the stars, but Jeremy and Lynette wanted more, or at least, they wanted something different.
The largest city on Andover was called Childress. They rented a small apartment together and sought work, he as a journalist for Childress’ largest newsfeed, she as an apprentice designer of women’s fashions for the relatively small number of the elite that chose to spend time on Andover.
Lydia Prescott Jones met them at a fashion show, where Lynette’s creations were displayed along with those of five other young designers. Lydia was immediately taken with them both. That same night, after the show, while walking along the shore in a part of town that was never known to be dangerous, they were accosted by six men, none of whom they recognized.
“Would you recognize them now?” Michael interrupted.
Jeremy hesitated. “Not positively. They wore masks. Lynnie?”
Lynette shook her head.
“Sorry,” Michael said. “Please go on.”
“There’s not much more to tell. They were a lot bigger and stronger than we were, and there were six of them. They knew what they were doing. They sprayed us with some stuff and that was the last thing we remember until we woke up in a ship.”
Arcturus, who had been listening silently, said, “What can you tell us about this ship?”
“Pretty much nothing. We were held in a single room, with an attached bathroom. Food was delivered automatically through slots in the wall. There was a vid screen but the number of available channels was limited. We couldn’t even tell you how long we were kept there. Finally, nozzles in the ceiling opened up, some stuff spra
yed out. We tried to hold our breath but it was useless. We fell asleep. When we woke up, we were in another small room in a house somewhere. There was a window with bars. We could see trees in the distance and a beach with waves. We were there for almost a month. They must have put something in the food one night because after dinner we went to sleep and woke up the next morning at Lydia’s estate.” He shrugged. “You know the rest.”
“You saw nothing of this house except the one room?” Arcturus asked.
“Nothing at all.”
Arcturus shook his head. “If you hadn’t killed her, we could have questioned her. That would have been very helpful.”
Jeremy looked momentarily embarrassed. Lynette wrinkled her nose. “So, after all this time, we were supposed to realize that somebody had deliberately freed us? That some person we didn’t know was actually trying to help us? Believe me, that thought never occurred to us, not in the slightest.
“Both of us got sick. We thought we had some sort of virus. We had fever and headaches and couldn’t keep any food down for over a day, but when the sickness was gone, we found that we could finally disobey her. We weren’t slow to take advantage of that.” She glanced at Jeremy. “We had been planning for it, barely even hoping that it would ever happen, but hope was the only thing that kept us going.” She laughed bitterly. “We tried to commit suicide once. We couldn’t even do that. The pain when we tried was indescribable.”
“Fuck her,” Jeremy said. “She deserved it and I’m not sorry one little bit.”
“I’m just sorry that we can’t help you,” Lynette added.
Arcturus sat back in his seat. “You can’t help us with Lydia…but you were with her for how long?”
“Nearly two years.”
“So, you were her constant companions. You went with her almost everywhere for two years. You know her movements, her friends and her acquaintances. You know who abused you, aside from her.” Arcturus cocked his head to the side. “You do know their names?”
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