CYBORG PLEASURE; the Space Madame's Warrior

by Cathryn Cade

  She set to work on his mitts, then his boots, tossing the offensive braid into a heap on the carpet. Then she looked up at him, daring him with her gaze not to comply. “Get that thing off your helmet.”

  Watching her with those enigmatic dark eyes, he reached up and pulled the trim from his helmet. It came off in one piece, which he tossed onto the other chunks of trim. Then he continued to watch her.

  She scanned him, hands on her hips, her bearing insouciant as if she weren't reeling from the heady, pure scent of virile male that wafted from his skin, and the sensual memories it ignited inside her. “All right, that's better. At least no one will be messing with me, not with you around.”

  He said nothing, and strange excitement and nerves ramped up low in the pit of her belly.

  He'd agreed complicitly by changing his appearance as directed, but if things went nuclear, could she trust him? Or would he turn on her?

  Was he intended as her instrument of destruction, in abeyance till he was needed? Of the available choices, that seemed most likely. Not only spy, but potential assassin.

  Strangely, this notion did nothing to quell the sheer thrill of knowing he would be at her shoulder for the next hours. She may have lost her joy in life since Var died, but evidently not her reckless urge to dance on the knife's edge of peril.

  Playa looked alarmed, Bek unhappy.

  “Nothing physical,” the guard captain warned. “He's too powerful. He could maim by accident.”

  Ilya smirked. “Don't think we'll need to escalate that far. One look at him should do it.” She didn't need anyone rent limb from limb. Although there was, it must be admitted, considerable temptation in knowing she might be able to command this huge male to do so.

  She need to remember what she was doing here. Turning her back on him, she looked to Playa. “Which dining room do you recommend?”

  Playa and Bek were both watching her, their gazes darting from her to VX and back, as if they couldn't believe she'd casually turned her back on the huge cyborg. What, was she supposed to be cowering from him?

  Playa blinked, as if focusing. She cocked her dark head and considered. In her bright red suit, with the yellow flower in her hair, the motion gave her the look of a pretty, brightly plumaged bird. Ilya had once seen a Pangaean travel vid with brilliantly hued birds flashing through jungle foliage.

  She and Var had planned to travel there one day. Yet another debt totted against whoever in this place had taken him from her.

  “All our restaurants and cafes are excellent,” Playa said, “But my favorite is the Oasis. You'll feel you're on Serpentia.”

  “As long as they don't serve lizard.”

  “It's actually delicious with tamari sauce,” Playa said, her dark eyes twinkling. “But I assure you, each of our cafes and restaurants addresses all planetary tastes.”

  “Huh.” Ilya had seen some of the stomach-turning things other planetary beings ate. Bartians were partial to great stinking plates of protean goo, and she'd once watched a pair of Zorbans devour small snakes that squirmed in their grasps. Kinda made Egglantians’ living drink garnishes tame in comparison.

  “We also have separate dining areas for ... certain races,” Playa added, as if she knew what Ilya was thinking. “So the experience is pleasant for all guests.”

  “Good choice,” Ilya said. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  They rode down in the private elevator, VX looming beside them, a silent behemoth.

  Walking from the elevator into the themed dining room was a definite experience.

  The place really did look like a Serpentian oasis, from what Ilya had seen on the travel vids. Holoscreens portraying golden sand dunes and pale green sky, with spiky shrubs and trees, circled the cafe area. The ceiling was a tent of silks in golds and reds, the floor tiled like sandstone, and the furnishings piled with plush cushions, richly tasseled. Haunting music pulsed softly enough that patrons could converse.

  Ilya maintained her cool expression only with an effort. A childish part of her wanted to thumb her nose at the expensively dressed and coiffed humans leaving the restaurant, who gaped at her entourage. A party of Aquarians stood waiting to enter, pale and haughty in their white robes. They eyed VX and then her with chilly blue gazes.

  Ilya ignored them all to signal the maître d, a Serpentian in crimson tunic and pants, just emerging through gauzy draperies blowing gently in a warm breeze. The Serp managed to rip his gaze from VX and bow to her.

  “Ms. Mondas,” he said. “How honored we are by your presence. A table for the four of you?”

  “Just three,” Ilya said. “My guard will stand.”

  Without waiting for the man, she strode into the restaurant. The maître d scurried beside her, waving his hands at his staff. Ahead, Serpentian waitstaff glided swiftly to obey.

  They were shown to a table in an alcove, the extra chair whisked away to make room for Playa's hoverchair. “Shall I lower the draperies for privacy?” the Serp asked.

  “No,” Ilya said. Nice to be able to command instant privacy, but this time she was here to be seen. She took the seat facing the room, and VX moved to stand silently behind her chair.

  Their breakfast orders were taken immediately and tea service for her, coffee for Bek and Playa appeared in quick succession. The center of their table held an arrangement of bulb-like cacti, each with a lush, brilliant orange and fuchsia bloom on the end, set in amongst smaller star-shaped succulents, the whole in a Serpentian fire-glass bowl with swirling edges.

  Playa fidgeted with her coffee mug and cast an uncomfortable look at VX. “Wouldn't he like something to eat and drink?”

  “He refuses to eat or drink outside his quarters,” Ilya said. “His choice.” Or one that had been made for him by his masters, whoever the quark they were. She'd find out soon, never doubt it, but for now this was not her priority. She needed VX fully in his role as scary enforcer.

  Their breakfast arrived, a display as lovely and appetizing as the tray sent to her office.

  Ilya's stomach growled as she eyed her platter, which held two plump muffins, crisply fried eggs and vege-sausage, and a fan of pale green-and-gold gremel fruit. She braced herself and took a tiny bite of one of the muffins. Sweet, spicy, buttery, with a tinge of tart moonberry.

  She sighed with relief, and dug in. Bek and Playa did likewise, although Playa kept stealing glances at VX. Ilya ignored the niggle of shame in her chest. She was not accustomed to treating anyone else as lesser, and it did not set well. Joran Stark might have ruled his band, but they'd all had a say in what happened, and sat together as equals, serving each other in different ways. Even the camp followers and tont keepers had been free to speak and act as they wished, and had their share of profits from raids on other pirates.

  Not like the 'borg left her with any choice, she reminded herself. When a creature his size refused to step out of his role, twisted as it was, she couldn't force him. So for now, she'd use that.

  Finished with her breakfast, Ilya signaled the maître d, who was hovering with one eye on her table when not dealing with the other customers. He'd had to do some soothing with the Aquarians, who glided past Ilya's table as if she no longer existed.

  A large party of Serps sat at a big table in the center, talking and laughing boisterously. They were flashy, dressed in every shade from orange to green, with glitter cosmetics and hair as bright as their clothing. The other tables included a family of Pangaeans, several groups of humans of all colors, and a man who looked like an aging pirate with two Tygean females. They were giggling at what he said, as he grinned at them. He looked familiar, though Ilya wasn't sure from where.

  The maître d glided over, tense and brittle. “Yes, ma'am? Was everything to your liking?”

  “Wonderful,” Ilya assured him. “You know, I ordered a tray sent up earlier. Bring out the head baker, won't you? I want to compliment him.”

  The maître d blinked. “Ah … yes, ma'am. It will take a moment to
bring him here—the main galley is some distance away.”

  “We'll wait.”

  Bek sighed.

  “Relax,” Ilya murmured. “Just gonna talk.”

  He gave her a look that said he doubted this, and she chuckled. Couldn't help but like the guy—he would've fit in well with Il Zhazid's band. No skrog shit about him.

  The maître d was back in a moment, with a short, stout Egglantian in a black smock dusted with flours. His dark eyes darted everywhere but to Ilya, and he practically vibrated with tension, his small sharp teeth appearing and disappearing as his lips twitched.

  The maître d bowed with to Ilya with a flourish. “Hakim, ma'am. He is our specialty baker.”

  The Egg bowed jerkily. “How may I serve you?”

  VX stirred behind Ilya, and the baker nearly came out of his shoes.

  Ilya smiled. “Hello, Hakim. I see you noticed my bodyguard. I really shouldn't bring him out in the public areas. He's very bad-tempered. But he just loooves baked goods.”

  She pulls the muffin from the napkin. “I brought this from the breakfast that was served earlier in my quarters. Now, if I give it to him and he takes a bite, what do you suppose will happen?”

  The Egg stared at VX, his eyes bugging out. Ilya held up the muffin, and watched from the corner of her eye as VX accepted it. As if on cue, he opened his mouth.

  “No, no,” the baker cried. He scuttled forward, grabbed the muffin from VX and stuffed it deep in his tunic, leaving his hand in his pocket as if afraid VX might try to steal the muffin back. “I—I would never s-serve such a very large being anything but muffins fresh from my ovens. Very, very fresh. I will go and get some for him at once ... if Madame wishes.”

  He eyed her, his shiny black eyes glittering with nerves. Ilya stared at him, drawing the moment out, watching him twitch.

  “Yeah, you see the thing is,” she said. “I took a bite of one of those muffins myself. And you think VX here is bad-tempered? When I get rezzed, I make him look like a Star Kid Scout.'

  She shook her head sadly. “I don't know who you should be more worried about. Him, or me. But I'm sure you'll never serve me any food again that's not ... tasty, will you, Hakim?'

  The baker bowed profusely. “No, ma'am. No, no. Never.”

  Ilya sat back, and clapped her hands together. “Excellent. And do let all your co-workers in other departments know about my bad temper, too, hmm? It's been a pleasure talking with you. You really are a stellar baker. Don't think I've ever had a better breakfast than this one.”

  She looked into his eyes. “Keep up the good work, Hakim.”

  “Yes, ma'am. Yes, always.”

  “Stellar. Carry on, then.”

  The baker scurried away. Ilya held it together until she met Bek's eyes. He looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or scold her.

  “He c-crammed the muffin in his pocket,” she said, and they both clapped their napkins to their mouths to hide laughter. The baker wouldn't get that mess out without washing the tunic.

  Playa gave them both a disapproving look. “The poor man. He was very frightened.”

  Ilya lowered her napkin. “Hah. That poor man's lucky I didn't make him eat the damned muffin. Would've served his ass right.”

  She set her napkin down, and took a last drink of cooling tea. “Well, I think we're done here, yeah?”

  Playa grabbed a napkin and began to fill it with muffins and rolls. Ilya was somewhat puzzled, but as they proceeded from the restaurant, the maître d bowing them out, she saw Playa hand the napkin-wrapped bundle to VX with a shy smile. The huge 'borg took the package in one huge paw and then looked from it to Playa and back, as if not sure what to do.

  Ilya snorted to hide the strange twist of emotion in her middle. “Enjoy your muffins, big guy. See you later. Okay, team, for our next visit, I'm thinking the casino.”

  As she stepped into the elevator and turned, the 'borg was stepping into another of the concealed doorways in the wall just outside the restaurant, the muffins borne in one hand, as carefully as a chalice.

  Ilya tore her gaze from this sight and glanced back into the foyer of the Oasis restaurant. The maître d stood there, tablet in hand. His obsequious expression was gone. He was smirking, a purely unpleasant gleam in his eye. He looked, she realized, like a man who knew something she didn't, and was reveling in his knowledge. When their gazes met, he looked instantly away, already moving to greet another party.

  Weird, or had she imagined the whole thing?

  She waited until the elevator hatch had enclosed the three of them in luxe silence before pulling a slim wafer from her pocket. She pressed it on the inside of the hatch where it began to hum quietly and emit rapidly blinking blue lights.

  “Scrambler,” she explained succinctly.

  “I could use a few of those,” Bek said.

  “Be nice and I'll get you some. For starters, I'm gonna want to know where all those passageways and hatches are that VX—and I assume the others of his kind—use to skulk around.”

  Bek gave her a veiled look, and Ilya's breakfast roiled in her stomach as she realized what the secret passageways were for. “It's so they're not seen as they go to service wealthy clients.”

  God, that explained the ridiculous costume—some wealthy females liked to play victim to an exotic marauder or shit like that. VX was probably on his way to another assignation right now. Some rich bitch was probably upset she'd had to wait, too. Good. Ilya hoped VX's cock shriveled and he couldn't get it up to do his thing. She hoped the woman smelled as sulphurous as a Bartian, and tasted bitter as that muffin.

  “Correct,” Bek said, fortunately breaking into her thoughts. “The passages are also used by female—and male—standard sex workers, and on occasion by our wealthiest clients who wish to ... avoid notice.”

  “Lot of secrets here,” she muttered. And this one, she wished she did not know. “Who's running the sex operation?”

  “Most are private contractors who rent one of the smaller rooms here,” Playa said. “The cyborgs are ... different.” She and Bek exchanged another one of those looks.

  “You know you're gonna have to explain the 'borgs to me,” Ilya said. “And soon.” Because she was getting a worse feeling in her gut every time these two did their silent communication thing.

  “It would be safer for you,” Bek said slowly, his gaze troubled, “if you learn nothing more.”

  Shit. She was gonna have to call Joran Stark in on this, and probably the IBI before she was through. Remembering the holovids in her showerdry made her stomach churn again.

  “I don't do safe. And let me real clear on another thing,” she said. “I have no objection to sex workers, they serve a purpose. But I won't stand for any beings hurt or coerced—not on my watch. You get me?”

  Bek sighed. “Vadyal's pain porn.”

  “Yeah, and I'll never be able to scrub that shit from my brain.”

  “That was Vadyal for you. Real stellar citizen. But look, far as we know, nothing like that is still happening here ... not through coercion at least. Some beings, er, prefer pain.”

  “Oh, that gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling,” she gritted. “You're gonna help me make quarking sure any pain here is consensual. And fill me in on whatever is going on with the 'borgs.”

  He sighed. “Yes, ma'am. But can we please just focus on the casino for today?”

  “So you can give someone time to hide their dirty ops?”

  “No!” Now he looked as angry as she. “I don't do that shit.”

  Guilt pricked her. The guy had been nothing but helpful ... so far. Now he stood with his arms crossed over his chest, as if he was holding himself back from doing violence.

  “It's just that, if you don't understand how the financials of the casino, restaurants and hotels work, none of the rest of it will make any sense,” Playa put in quickly. “The casino is the best place to begin, really.”

  Ilya studied the two of them closely. Finally she relaxed a little. “
Okay, I'm sorry, Bek. Shouldn't have said that. I'll give you a day to show me what you want me to see. Then I start digging deeper.”

  Bek nodded tightly. “I have schematics of the station on holovid.”

  “Complete?”

  “Not when I got them, but I've been adding to them. Vadyal liked to compartmentalize intel. We can only guess how much died with him—this place probably has secrets no one will ever know. Just hope none of them are deadly.”

  “I can help with that,” Ilya nodded at the scrambler. “That's just one of my little pieces. I've got more—lots more.”

  He relaxed a little, surveying her with reluctant respect. “You really are a tech genius, then. Ryder said you were.”

  “Ryder? How d'you know him?”

  “He's been here a few times.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “He spent one night in my lock-down. We got to talking.”

  Ilya guessed friendships had been forged in stranger ways.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “Main casino,” a smooth voice announced as the elevator glided to a stop.

  Ilya used her com to stop the hatch from opening. She took a calming breath, which did little to soothe her. Shouldn't have drunk that last cup of tea.

  Right, like it was the tea sending her nerves jittering and not the knowledge that she was responsible for this huge, quarking warren of a place. And that not everyone here was eager for her to get on with that.

  “So, what do I need to know before I visit the casino?” she asked, tapping her fingers against her leg. Instead of the usual holster, her fingertips met smooth, heavy silk. That was gonna take some getting used to.

  She felt half-naked without her pocketed vest and pants. This must be why so many females carried bags with them all the time—their clothing had little room for anything except their tits and asses.

  Catching sight of her sleek reflection in the mirrored wall of the elevator, Ilya frowned. Couldn't get used to the way she looked, either. Like a fancy, groomed version of herself. She might be covered nearly head to toe, but it was all light, fitted cloth that clung and sort of shimmered when she moved.