CYBORG PLEASURE; the Space Madame's Warrior

by Cathryn Cade

  “But plenty of beings still think you are, right?” Ryder asked, his voice gentler that Ilya knew it could be. “That's why you're hiding in this place.”

  Playa nodded, then peeped at Bek, who was still holding her hand. “Well, it's why I came here. But I like it here now. Some of the beings I work with are very ... nice.”

  The stalwart guard captain gave her a look that made Ilya bite back a grin. Bek thought Playa was very nice too. Now they all just had to make sure the couple lived to enjoy that.

  “Okay,” Ilya said, bringing her hands together in a brisk clap. “So, now we know our strengths. Next, we need as much intel as we can get on our opponents. Then we can make a plan.”

  “Sounds so easy when you say it,” Haro drawled. “But I gotta feeling it won't be.”

  “No, and we must be ready to move soon,” Var put in.

  Ilya turned to him, her heart nearly stopping. “You think he'll come after us now?”

  Var shook his head, his jaw set grimly. “Tonight—in five hours’ galactic common time—the first of five matches is scheduled to begin. Blu will be there, along with the remaining fighters”

  “You're sure he'll show?” Bek asked. “He won't use that as a ruse to slip some of the warriors out and come after you, DR and Playa?”

  “No. He has to be there. If one of us—I mean, the gladiators is injured, or afraid, he forces them to go on fighting until he is ready for them to stop.”

  “Until someone's hurt or ... dead,” Playa added. She shook her head. “I've felt them—the despair, the terror, the pain. But he told us that he took care of you, and I'm so sorry, VX, it was easier to believe him. I’m so sorry.”

  “Oh, that's so beyond awful,” Dano cried to her. “You shouldn't have to go through that—well, neither should they, of course.”

  “Oh, no. It's not as bad for me,” Playa said quickly, looking to Var. “I just meant ... I feel the—the echoes of what happens.”

  He nodded. “Bek and Ilya are right, you're a good person.”

  “Not that good, or I would've saved you sooner.”

  “Hey,” Var said. “I'd rather have you alive now. He would've killed you, Playa. It would've been you against him and us, don’t you realize? And d'you think any of us want that on our conscience? Bad enough to have killed other warriors.”

  “He's right,” Bek said firmly. “We need you now, Playa. We must work together.”

  She nodded wanly.

  “How can you stand to be in a place like this?” Ilya asked her. “The casino is pretty intense too, with all those beings gambling their credit away.”

  Playa shrugged. “I've learned to shield against most emotion. But with the gladiators ... I think it's because another Indigon is involved.”

  “Oh, like he opens a similar conduit to what you use?” Qala asked.

  “Yes, I believe so. And before any of you ask—no, I do not read the thoughts of those around me. Not unless they are—you know, a threat to themselves or others.”

  “Good to know,” Haro said. Qala poked him, and he smirked guiltily.

  “Okay,” Ryder said, clapping his hands together. “Let's get to it. We got four hours till it goes down, let's make sure it goes down at least partly our way.”

  He cast a doubtful look around the room. “This is the first—and hopefully the last—time I ever wished for a few epaulets around.”

  Ilya smirked. “Don't give us that look, Ryder. You think there's anyone in this room that can't handle a fire-fight as well or better than any soldier, think again.”

  She looked to Playa. “You're probably the only one here who's killed by accident, honey. The rest of us meant to, and we’d do it again. Far as I'm concerned, we're doing the galaxy a mighty big favor getting rid of Blu.”

  Bek cleared his throat. “Since you brought up the IGSF ... there's something you should all know.”

  Ryder gave him a look of deep suspicion. “Oh, don't tell me ... you didn't link them already, did you?”

  “No. But ... you all know they were here after Vadyal's murder by his mistress. There was a brigade, with a brigadier commander. And you know they have the latest tech equipment.” He looked at them expectantly.

  “Why didn't they uncover Blu's operation, and the fights?” Var asked. He grimaced. “They had to have found it.”

  Bek nodded grimly. “Yet nothing was done. I was never asked about it. After several sleepless nights, I decided not to bring it up. It was clear to me that the commander was ignoring the fights. And given the profits the fights bring in, I'm sure the reason was he was receiving payola from Blu. When they were ordered to leave the station, I inquired after the commander. I was informed he had retired to Pangaea.”

  “Quarking eppies,” Haro swore viciously. “Had a corrupt commander on Frontiera who tried to use her forces to take us out, especially Joran Stark. Now this—are any of 'em straight?”

  “Plenty of them,” Ryder said wryly. “I oughtta know—tried to bribe a female officer in Frontiera City to look the other way on a certain shipment of mine a few lunars ago. Barely talked her out of throwing my ass in the grids.”

  “Bet we know who that was,” Qala said, exchanging a look with Var and Ilya. “But there aren't any eppies around here now, are there?”

  Bek shrugged. “Some show up occasionally to gamble and party. I can have one of my people check the guest list, see if we have any in now.”

  “Good idea,” Ilya said, thinking hard. “If we do, maybe we can make use of them. The thing I want,” she added, moving closer to Var, “Is to try and do this without taking out any of the other warriors.”

  “That will not be possible,” he told her, reaching up to touch her face carefully. “We won't be able to free all of them, Ilya. Some thrive on this life. There is one, SN-400. He's been here the longest of the living cyborgs ... and he's Blu's right hand. He excels at punishment.”

  “Is he the one who whipped you?”

  “Yes, but they made DR assist him. That was very hard for him.”

  “Then maybe DR will be glad to help us get some back for both of you.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked up, and he stroked the pad of his thumb over her lips. “Yeah, I reckon he will at that.”

  “We must be very, very careful, Ilya,” Playa cautioned. “Blu is intelligent enough to realize by now that neither Var or DR are coming back.”

  “She's right,” Bek said. “He knows something's up by now. He'll be ready for trouble.”

  Ilya smiled slowly. “Well, then, let's give him exactly what he expects.”

  Var tightened his grip on her, his eyes narrowing. “Explain.”

  “Everyone thinks I’m on a micron trigger,” she said. “So, we let them think I’m shooting without any forethought. But meanwhile, you’re all working behind the scenes.”

  “No,” he said instantly. “You want to place yourself out in front of all of us? No, Ilya. I just got you back, I can’t lose you again.”

  Her heart swelled. “Same, big guy. But if we’re going to free the other cyborgs who are good, who have a chance to make something of themselves and live free again—you know we have to make a bold move.”

  “You’re not stepping up alone,” he told her, his wide jaw like cerametal.

  She grinned, even though her stomach was flip-flopping in her middle. “Of course not. You’re gonna be at my side, guarding me.”

  “Uh—I thought we needed Var with us, moving in on the other ‘borgs?” Haro asked.

  “You’re right,” Ilya told them. “So he’ll be both places.”

  Qala smiled slowly. “Right. This can work. We’ve seen it done.”

  “Explain to the rest of us,” Bek demanded.

  So they did.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  At precisely eleven chimes, galactic common time, a small party approached the double doors deep in the center of the Pleasure Palace, leading to the illegal and therefore secret gladiator ring known as The Pit
.

  The party was led by a small blonde in a sleek, gold metallic catsuit enhanced with black and white diamonds. A vest fit tightly under her arms, to billow out behind her in a glittering short train. Her braided hair was caught up with the same gems, and her eyes were made up with dark, dramatic shadows to enhance her pale, green eyes.

  In one hand she carried a baton not unlike a royal scepter, and she strode on gold platform boots, although she was still dwarfed by the man hulking at her side.

  He was dressed only in a short, black kilt, a heavy belts and black boots, with mitts on his huge hands and a cerametal helmet on his head. His oiled, tanned skin gleamed in the lights, every muscle and tendon bulging sharply. He did not walk, he prowled, with the silent intensity of a huge predator looking for his next kill.

  All the expensively garbed and coiffed beings crowded into the shadowed, dingy foyer outside the elevators moved back, giving the pair plenty of room. Gazes over-bright with alcohol, legals and illegals followed them. These beings were here for a show, avid for any and all drama leading up to it.

  Scarcely any of them paid heed to the small woman in gray who glided behind the dramatic pair, even her head meekly covered. A servant, perhaps—clearly no one worthy of their notice.

  The two heavily armed guards—not cyborgs, but stalwart nevertheless—eyed the woman and her bodyguard. One spoke into his com, listened, and then nodded to the other. They stepped aside, and the doors opened to allow the couple to enter.

  The Pit was not as wide as the casino, but it was deep. One entered at the top, and below, the spectator seating fell away in dizzyingly steep tiers toward a flat arena below, covered in sand, ringed with massive gates leading away below the stands.

  Hoverplats floated up and down the tiers of seating, some delivering spectators, some carrying attractive, nearly nude males and females with food and beverage trays.

  Without pausing, the blonde strutted toward a prominently placed private enclosure at the top, with luxe seating and carpet in crimson and black. Another guard, this one a Serp, stood before the open gateway into the box. He stood in the way when she would have entered.

  “Sorry, ma’am, but this is the owner's private box, for his guests only.”

  She returned his cold gaze, and lifted the baton to point it at him. The glowing tip sizzled with red current, one thin strand of which flicked through the air to zap him on one cheek. He flinched back, and she smiled without humor. “Guess you haven't heard—I'm the new CEO. And I don't like being told no, even by pretty boys like you. Stand aside, or your face will be much less attractive.”

  He blinked at the sting. Then he stood aside. “Yes, ma'am.”

  “Good boy. Now go and fetch me some drinks—sealed ones. Water for these two, green tea for me, cold.”

  She seated herself in the front and center of the box, and smirked at the assembled spectators, many of whom were watching her curiously.

  Her guard took up a station just behind her. He bent when she beckoned imperiously.

  “How'm I doing?” Ilya whispered, the smile still pasted on her lips. She waved languidly at a party of Azurians in the box opposite.

  “Don't overdo it,” Var muttered into her com.

  “That's the whole point,” she breathed, blowing a kiss to a single gentleman eying her. “I'm the queen bitch, here to demand my due.”

  Her husband straightened, and glowered menacingly. The man stopped in mid-kiss blowing, his eyes widened, and he blanched.

  A slim young man fluttered into the booth, a hovertray at his side. “Shall I open these for you, ma'am?”

  Ilya waved him away. “No, no. Go away.” Out of the line of fire, preferably.

  Through her lashes, she scanned the ranks of special boxes, looking for a certain thin, black-haired male in a hoverchair.

  “He's down at arena level,” Playa whispered into her com. “Directly across from us. I can feel him.”

  “So can I,” Var growled. Which of course he would, having been under the foul doctor’s influence for months.

  “Well then,” Ilya snarled, “Then let's get this party started.”

  * * *

  Annar Blu smiled, sitting very straight in his hover chair as the stupid blonde bitch rose and came to the edge of Vadyal's private box. She might be gowned and made up like a wealthy queen, but he knew Ilya Mondas was merely pirate trash who'd been robbing other pirates for food and cruiser fuel only weeks ago, while crying over her poor, dead husband.

  Ah, how he'd enjoyed keeping the great oaf here and turning him into a warrior who fought on his master's command. Knowing that somewhere a stupid cunt of a wife mourned for him, had made the process all the sweeter.

  Of course she'd gotten her claws back into VX again ... but not for much longer.

  She'd walked right into his trap, and brought her precious husband with her. They could die together. How poetic. Would VX throw himself in front of her in a heroic effort to save her, or would he toss her at his fellows in a futile attempt to gain more time? That would be doubly delicious.

  It was only what women deserved. Like the bitch who'd thrown him over for another man. Left him, because he was physically damaged. He'd shown her—no one had ever figured out that her widower, now shivering on Deep Six, the cold prison planet, that’s if he was still alive, hadn't actually wanted to kill her. He'd done it because Annar made him. Destroyed them and their great love with one surge of his power. Which was when he’d discovered wielding his powers was far more satisfying than love, anyway.

  Thus, that had been only the beginning. He'd learned the true enjoyment of taking strong men and making them even stronger, while he held all the true power, over their minds. His warriors were mighty, but they were only living holo-chess pieces that he controlled. He decided when they should live … or die in agony.

  He created them, he enhanced them with special diet and enhancing supplements, and he used them as he wished. And let tonight be just another chapter in his saga of true power.

  He licked his lips and waited eagerly for her to speak, and begin her own terrorized plummet to doom and her husband with her, without any of these idiot spectators knowing it was real.

  * * *

  “Good evening, galactic citizens,” Ilya called. She flinched as her magnified voice filled the arena, and hoped no one had noticed. Whoa, her tech was working well tonight.

  When all eyes had turned her way, those directly below her watching on the huge holovid that hovered over the arena in the round, she smiled, showing all her teeth. She lifted one arm and waved, enjoying the way her jeweled garments glittered in the lights. “I'm Ilya Mondas. The new directress of the Pleasure Palace. Is everyone having a good time throwing away your credit on useless pleasures you won't even recall by the time your cruisers deposit you back in your apartments?”

  No one responded to this—not directly. They murmured amongst themselves.

  She gave them wide eyes. “Well, then, are you ready for some senseless violence, brought to you by a megalomaniac who gets his jollies by using captive warriors to do what he can't—get it up and screw all you rich bitches, and then battle each other for your viewing pleasure?”

  By now the arena was so quiet, Ilya could hear those nearest breathing. The wealthy patrons in various stages of inebriation, the wait staff on their hoverplats, the guards stationed at discreet intervals, and Annar Blu himself were all watching her, agog. Well, he looked more pissed off than agog, but that was her immediate goal, after all.

  She shook her head in mock sorrow. “Sorry to inform you, tonight's entertainment has been ... altered. Instead of captive warriors fighting someone else's battles ... the principals will engage.”

  She leapt lightly onto the rim of the box, and then dropped into the air over the arena.

  Hundreds of beings gasped. Several shrieked—although some of those were in delight—and all eyes were on Ilya as she floated gently down to the sand of the arena floor, her golden train balloonin
g behind her. Once on solid ground, she let out a hard breath of relief. The hoverboots and the device hidden in her train had worked.

  Time for Stage Two.

  Slow clapping greeted her arrival. She looked over to see Dr. Blu applauding her with a gleam in his dark blue eyes. He really was a creeper, so pale he looked like a cave dweller, and no expression in that thin, lined face of his.

  “Splendid,” he called, his voice streaming as clearly as her own. “Ladies and gentlemen, beings, I bring you ... the golden damsel in distress. Watch her besieged by beasts and marauding savages alike, battling for a taste of her ... in their various ways of course.”

  “No!” thundered a deep voice far above. Var leaned out over the box, reaching for Ilya. “No!”

  Blu looked up at the owner's box, and smiled, showing sharp teeth. “Why who do we have up there? Can it be a knight to save the damsel? Too bad he's so far away. I wonder if he can reach her in time?”

  “Wait—what are you up to, Blu?” Ilya called, turning on him. “This was supposed to be between you and me, you shriveled coward. Come out here and face me yourself. I demand satisfaction from you. You murdered my husband—or you tried, anyway.”

  “Who, me?” Blu gave a theatrical gasp and then looked around the stadium, his eyes sparkling with fun. “What say, galactic citizens? Shall we give the damsel some opponents to truly worry her?”

  A roar of excitement burst from the throats of those in the stands. Ilya winced inwardly. Sheesh, these rich sleazebags wanted a show, and didn’t much care how they got it.

  The massive gates around the arena began to groan slowly open, sending a visceral chill rolling through her. She turned slowly, clutching her baton and eying the black openings yawning. This had seemed like such a great idea while they were planning. Now she was reliving standing on that Frontieran hillside all over again ... and this time, there were more than one skrog.

  A fearsome snarl cut through the air over her head, and she froze, horror locking her in place. Shit, was that a ...