She was sitting at the table in the galley, holding a cup of tea. She grimaced, then gave her head a tiny shake. “I wanted to give him something to live for, something to come back to.” Her voice trembled.
Michael shrugged. “I hope it helps.” He grinned wanly. “I hope someday we’ll find out.”
The Lady Egidia Colbert did indeed have twins. Their names were Brett and Stephanie Lerner. Early one morning, soon after Richard Norlin’s arrival, he saw both twins exit Lady Egidia’s bedroom. They wore silk robes but were otherwise naked. Richard was assigned to guard the front door of the house, a pointless exercise in his opinion, since the grounds were very effectively screened and patrolled, but his not to reason why. This was not, to say the least, a difficult job.
The twins ignored Richard. They gathered a bowl of fruit, a platter of small cookies, a carafe of chocolat and three cups, then went back into Lady Egidia’s bedroom. All three emerged two hours later, showered, dressed and smelling of perfume and cologne.
“You,” Lady Egidia said to Richard. “We’re going shopping. Have the car brought around.”
Richard did so. Less than five minutes later, a black limousine drove up to the front gate. Richard opened the door and stood by while Lady Egidia and her two companions entered and sat down. She frowned at him, gave Richard a thoughtful look and said, “Get in. You’re coming with us.”
Not exactly what he had been hired for but the boss was the boss. Richard entered the car and sat down across from Lady Egidia and the twins, who snuggled together on one soft, padded seat. A second security guard was already seated near the back, behind Lady Egidia. His name was Justin. He gave Richard a wink and a sly grin.
Up front, separated by a bulletproof glass panel, sat the driver and a third guard. Richard didn’t know them.
“What is your name?” Lady Egidia asked.
“Derek North, my Lady,” Richard said.
Lady Egidia looked at Stephanie and said, “Well?”
Stephanie pouted, then gave a small shrug. “I suppose he’ll do.” Brett looked away and frowned.
They arrived in the city’s central district perhaps ten minutes later. The driver parked the car in a reserved spot in a private, open-air lot. Richard and the other two guards exited first, then the twins and Lady Egidia. They walked out to the street together, with the guards flanking the others, and then turned into a four-story building that sold jewelry and clothes. Egidia and Stephanie spent most of the next three hours trying things on, rarely selecting a dress, a jacket or a blouse for purchase, which the staff folded and placed to the side.
While this was going on, the guards evenly spaced themselves around the perimeter. Brett stayed with his sister and Lady Egidia, offering comments on each item. He didn’t seem to be bored but Richard wondered.
Finally, Lady Egidia glanced at her interface and said, “That was fun. Let’s get something to eat.”
A supposedly genuine old French brasserie was located around the corner from the store. The host’s eyes lit up when the little party walked through the door. “Your regular table, Madame?”
Egidia screwed up her face in thought. “Not this time,” she said. “I’d like something by the window, so we can watch the people.”
The host beamed. “Of course. Please follow me.”
Egidia and the twins sat while Richard and the two guards were given a table of their own nearby, from which they could see the entire room. A few diners glanced their way but nobody paid them any more attention than that.
“Anything ever happen?” Richard asked.
The second guard, who had introduced himself as Gary Hartwell, frowned. “A couple of kidnapping attempts. Nothing too recent.”
Richard considered that. “Anybody die?”
“Not on our side.”
“Who were they?”
Hartwell shrugged. “We never did find out.”
“That surprises me. DNA analysis showed nothing?”
“They weren’t in the database.” Justin frowned down at table. “A lot of competing interests here. It didn’t used to be this way.”
Richard nodded. He already knew this. The Empire was expanding at the edges but seemed to be rotting from the core, like a tree hollowed out by disease. Or maybe not, he reflected. It didn’t do to jump to conclusions. It might be more accurate to say that the rot was coming from outside. Carving out the disease was the mission of Imperial Intelligence, of which he and the rest of his team seemed to have drifted into becoming a part, but before they could work out a cure, they needed to discover the cause.
“Gentlemen, can I get you something?” The waiter was young, smiling and seemed eager to please.
Richard glanced at Justin. “Room and board are part of the deal. Order whatever you want. We have a long afternoon of waiting around to look forward to.” He grinned. “Unless somebody tries something. They probably won’t but you never know.”
The lunch was leisurely. Lady Egidia seemed content to linger over a cup of tea and an éclair, but finally she rose to her feet and they all trouped onward to the next exclusive shop, and then the one after that. A boring day, in the end, but considering that they were all being paid to risk their lives on demand, boring was perhaps better than the alternative.
They arrived back at the estate as the sun was setting. Lady Egidia and the twins vanished into her suite. Dinner in the kitchen followed, then a few hours under an induction helmet with a VR simulation and an early bedtime.
So far, Richard reflected, easy money.
Chapter 20
For a day or so, Michael felt good about things. Some action had been taken, a few pieces were moving, but as time passed and nothing happened, he began to fret. Then, four days after Andrew Sloane had left them, he received a call from Arcturus. Michael knew that something had gone wrong as soon as he saw his face in the screen. Arcturus’ usual placid smile was missing, his expression grim.
“Can you meet me at the corner of Bailey Street and Seventh Avenue?”
“Sure,” Michael said.
“There will be a police cordon. Use the name Evan Tolliver. Tell them I’m expecting you.” He signed off. Michael called Curly, hesitated for a moment, then paged Marissa Oliver through her interface. They took a few minutes to don wigs, colored contact lenses, and cheek inserts that made their faces wider. It was the first time Michael had seen Curly with hair. He looked a lot less fierce, cuddly even. Weird seeing him that way.
The car drove itself while Michael brooded. The city had recently been swept by rain but by now, the skies had cleared. Stars were shining overhead and the three moons cast a soft, mellow glow over Terra Nova. Bailey Street and Seventh Avenue lay in the heart of the shopping district but this late at night, the stores were all closed, the streets nearly deserted.
Three police cruisers blocked the road ahead. Five troopers, carrying gauss rifles and wearing armor stood at attention. The car glided to a halt. Curly, Marissa and Michael got out and walked over to the line of troopers. All three moved slowly, making no sudden movements, hands clearly visible.
“This area is closed,” one of the troopers said. With helmets on, their faces could not be seen. It was eerie and a little frightening, which was part of the point.
“I’m Evan Tolliver,” Michael said. “We were asked to come.”
The trooper silently accessed his database, then stepped to the side. He waved his gun barrel to the left. “That way,” he said.
A crowd of cops and security personnel milled around something on the ground a few meters past the line. Searchlights cast circles of light over the scene. As they walked closer, Arcturus walked up to them. “I wanted you to see this,” he said.
A woman’s body lay in the street. She appeared to be young, which of course meant nothing. She had black hair, blue eyes, retractable titanium claws, now extended, and a fit, toned body. She had fought against her attackers. A lot of blood, Michael noted, most of it apparently somebody else’s, since there
were few visible wounds. She had been bludgeoned across the head, her skull caved in on the left, her hair bloody and matted.
“Her name is Genessee Burke,” Arcturus said. “She was a servant of Lydia Prescott Jones.”
Michael winced. “Where are all the other servants of Lydia Prescott Jones?”
Arcturus breathed a heavy sigh. “We’d better find out.”
So far, this job was turning out to be a lot more fun than Richard had anticipated. Richard, from an early age no stranger to orgies and public sex, was finding this afternoon’s entertainment to be a pleasant and refreshing reminder of home, not that he had ever been very fond of his home, but still, the place wasn’t all bad, not if you were the son of the Duke and expected to be the Duke yourself, one day.
Stephanie rolled her hips. She bit her lower lip and squeezed her eyes shut, breath coming in little pants, reaching for her orgasm. Richard wasn’t far behind. Unfortunately, at that moment, Stephanie’s brother chose to stand up on the bed. His penis was long, thin and very stiff. It bobbed a little in front of Richard’s eyes with each heartbeat.
“Uh, no thank you,” Richard said. Almost unconsciously, he slowed the pumping motion of his hips.
“Keep going,” Stephanie moaned. “I’m almost there.”
“No?” Brett said. He looked over at Lady Egidia, who was naked and lying back against the headboard, playing with herself. She smiled. Brett looked back at Richard uncertainly. Richard reached out, patted him on the leg and said, “Not tonight.”
Probably not ever, he thought. He had tried a few boys in his younger days but regretfully, had gotten nothing out of the experience. Some people were handicapped that way. Not like his father and Roderick, who were happy to shove their cocks in anything that moved. Richard had on occasion felt some embarrassment at his own narrowmindedness, but in the end, it was what it was. Boys did nothing for him.
“Come here, Sweetie,” Lady Egidia said. “I’ll take care of you.”
Brett shrugged and moved over to his mistress, who placed a little kiss on the head of his penis and then sucked him slowly in. Absently, Brett scratched at a spot behind his knee, where he had developed a sudden itch.
Richard grunted. Stephanie moaned, wrapped both arms and legs around his back, rolled her hips one more time, gave a little cry and shuddered. Her arms fell to the sides. Her legs splayed open. Richard looked down at Stephanie’s suddenly serene face, reached out and pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. She smiled up at him. He lowered his head, let his lips roam over hers for a moment and then rolled off, collapsing onto the bed, his breath coming in shallow pants.
“That was good,” Stephanie whispered. “Wasn’t that good?”
Richard drew a deep breath, his head pleasantly spinning. “Oh, Yeah,” Richard whispered. “Really, really good.”
Lady Edigia took Brett’s cock out of her mouth for a moment and said, “When you two get your breath back, come on over here.” She giggled. “Brett could use a little help.”
A lot more fun than he had anticipated.
Absently, Stephanie scratched a tiny itch on her side.
Three days later, however, nothing had happened. No fever, no chills, no changes in behavior. The virus that Richard had injected into the twins quietly expired, having found no neural networks to degrade in either of their brains. By now, Richard was not surprised. Lady Egidia was not the monster that he had expected. She was bubbly, beautiful and affectionate. She seemed to honestly care about every member of her household. She knew her guards by name and asked after their families. Lady Egidia Colbert was nothing like the unlamented Lydia Prescott Jones.
Brett and Stephanie were from Taverna, a small agricultural world not far from Dancy. Lady Egidia had met them on one of her frequent trips, offered them a contract, which they had been happy to accept and returned with them to Dancy.
Brett and Stephanie were exactly what they appeared. Brett and Stephanie were young, beautiful, perhaps not too bright and loved sex. They were honestly devoted to Lady Egidia, who treated them with kindness, never abused them nor required them to do anything that they were not willing to do and fucked their brains out.
Brett and Stephanie Lerner were not slaves.
Ditto, as it turned out, for Davida Emerson. Ilona and Davida Emerson owned a very successful lady’s boutique. They made elegant, expensive clothing, which required models to showcase. They employed a lot of models, most of whom were young, all of whom were beautiful, many of whom had no objection at all to spending time after work with their employer.
Davida Emerson was like a kid in a candy store. She wanted at least one of everything.
Imperial Intelligence investigated Davida thoroughly, and her mother as well, and Arcturus’ men shadowed her for over two weeks. Davida went out almost every evening, almost always with a different beautiful young man or woman than the night before, often more than one. There were a few that she saw on a recurring basis but none that could be described as much more than a casual sex partner. She was an enthusiastic participant in the Dancy party scene, for whom sex parties were not frequent but were also not uncommon. None of her partners in these escapades seemed in the slightest bit reluctant.
It was good to be rich, Michael thought, as he had thought many times before, but none of this, sadly enough, was getting them any closer to the heart of the slaver network.
Michael, Curly and Marissa Oliver had accompanied Arcturus and his men to Lydia Prescott Jones’ mansion, where they had found a slaughterhouse. Of eight servants and five security in Lydia’s employ, one servant and two guards were missing. The remaining six servants and two security were dead. They had been executed very professionally, with two bullets to the brain and three to the center of the chest. The servants all had surprised looks on their faces. The guards had at least tried to fight back. Guns were lying close to both bodies, one of which had been fired, and some blood spatter on the walls and floors did not appear to have come from the victims.
“This is not supposed to happen in the heart of the Empire,” Arcturus remarked.
Probably not, Michael thought. Five hundred years, five hundred worlds. It was enough to make you wonder about the future. Staring down at the bodies, he toyed with the idea of taking his ship and his people and heading out for parts unknown. Was this really his fight?
He sighed. Maybe yes, maybe no. Bottom line, it was if he wanted it to be and he objected on principle to people who casually murdered their enemies and sold teenagers into slavery.
“They were all killed at approximately the same time, between three hours and sixteen minutes and three hours and twenty-one minutes ago,” one of the techs said. She was a tiny redhead who obviously knew what she was doing. She fed a sample of dried blood scraped from one of the walls into a test tube, shook the tube, slid it into a machine and waited for the beep. “No match on this one.” She fed in another sample, waited again, then shook her head. “This one either.”
Too bad. The blood spatters might help to identify the gunmen, if they were ever found, but their DNA was not on record. That was unfortunate but not surprising. From the moment of birth, every citizen of the Empire was tissue typed, but the data was stored on their home world’s registry. It might have been different if interstellar communication had been possible but when the only way to transfer information from world to world was by ship, and when some worlds went years at a time between contact with the capital, an up-to-date, or even accurate centralized database was simply not possible.
“The samples come from two different males,” the tech said, “presumably from off-world. Both mixed race with a predominance of Caucasian. We’ve got the genes for approximate height, also hair and eye color but both of those can be changed.”
Arcturus grunted.
Little help there, not in finding the suspects, at any rate. After more than six thousand years of travel between the stars, almost everybody was “mixed race.”
Mechs swept the floors for f
iber and any detritus that might have been left behind. The bullets were analyzed but they proved to be standard ammunition in a standard caliber that could be purchased at numerous locations. Even the air was sampled but in the end, they had nothing much to go on that would lead them to a suspect.
“Four of the staff are missing. Let’s try to find them before the bad guys,” Arcturus said.
Michael nodded. Was it dumb luck or foresight? Probably a little of both, since three of the five guards had escaped and only one of the servants. The guards were presumably at least a bit more competent at physical altercation than the servants, or at least more competent at hiding. Gennesee Burke had been gunned down in the middle of the city. Probably, the bad guys were out hunting the survivors even now.
“We’ll see,” Arcturus said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Michael shook his head but kept his mouth shut. What was there to say? He read the time off his internal server. Three hours, twenty-one minutes and counting.
Chapter 21
The body of Gerard Addison was found floating in the bay. The cause of death proved to be the obvious: he had been drowned but the drowning had not been an accident. Bruises crept up both arms and legs and his lungs were filled with salt water. He had been held beneath the surface until he died. Addison had been a large man, one of the guards. He had struggled. It would not have been easy to kill him. Where he had been prior to his death was a mystery.
“Scratch one,” Arcturus said. He shook his head and sighed.
The body of Conrad Woo was found the next morning in a processing plant for organic feed pellets. In the normal course of events, his body would have been reduced to its constituent fat, proteins and carbohydrates with no one being the wiser but an intact human body proved beyond the capacity of the intake pipe. A release valve cut off when the pressure rose too high for the system to accommodate and Conrad Woo was discovered. His neck was broken, which might have been the cause of death, but since the machinery tended to macerate the raw materials, maybe not. By now, there had been so much decomposition that an absolute cause could not be determined.
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