by Jett Lang
“I’m the best man for the job, miss.”
“Confidence. We like a confident man, do we not, Ringmaster?”
“Indeed,” the Ringmaster affirmed with an aristocratic indifference.
“Can you walk?” she asked Jack.
“I can for you, miss.”
“Excellent.” The Ringmistress directed her next question at Scar. “How much for this deal?”
“A hundred.”
“Surely you joke.” She almost scoffed.
“It’s a steal.”
“It is robbery. The pilot is wounded. You will give me the man and woman for seventy.”
“Ninety,” Scar said.
“Seventy-five. And not a credit over.”
Silence. Scar must have been performing some mental tabulation. Weighing profit and pain. Pain in sending Queen away from the tortures he wished to inflict, profit in what she was worth to his organization’s bankroll. “Seventy-five.”
“Jeffry.”
Plastic money changed hands. Scar thanked the payer, the payer grunted noncommittally.
“When can we expect delivery?” the Ringmaster said.
“Tomorrow night. We’ll wash them, feed them, and have them ready for you by then.”
“That fits perfectly into our schedule,” The Ringmistress said. “Though, the waiting will be dreadful.”
“Dreadful but bearable, my dear,” the old master said. “We must show our propriety in these barbarous times.”
“Well said, sir!” Jack enthused. Queen rolled her eyes.
The master did not reply, nor the mistress. Not a word more was spoken in the prison. The retinue and Scar departed, shut the lift, and rose out with the same echoing squeaks and scrapes that had announced their arrival.
Queen propped her back against a worn steel wall. She felt the energy embedded underneath it. Warmth in the cold cell. A small, small comfort.
“Looks like you can’t get me out of your life,” he said, rapping his knuckles upon the wall.
“I’m sure I’ll find a way.”
※
The cabin Queen and Jack found themselves in smelled of incense and perfume. Their wrists were bound in aluminum-silver rope. The room had a nightstand, a bed, a thick woven rug, and four people. Two clones were seated in overstuffed, purple loungers at the far end of room. They were at-ease as the Ringmistress and Ringmaster inspected her for any anomalies, any surprises the slavers might have implanted. It was the young mistress that held the device, a thin grey baton, which she waved slowly over Queen’s front and sides. The baton fed information wirelessly to a reader in the woman’s other hand. Once satisfied with the results, she walked behind Queen, out of view. A ball of smooth plastic touched her nape.
“These are not security enhancements,” the mistress whispered. It came out like a statement, but Queen knew she was required to explain.
“Special reconnaissance,” she lied. She hadn’t expected the baton to identify any of her augs, but maybe she should have. Wealth sees through me.
“These modifications are recent, no less. Active for four years, your card says. It takes an exceptional individual to achieve such a career at your age. Yes?” The ball tapped the top of her spine.
“Yes.”
“And what about this one, hm?” She stroked the tip of the baton along Jack’s shoulders. “Was he your friend in special reconnaissance?”
“I think my daughter is smitten with you, boy,” the old master said.
“I will be so worthy of her affection, sir. So worthy,” Jack slurred. He had been administered some kind of pain suppressant at the holding cells. Too much, it seemed.
“I should hope so.” A threat flickered there in the master’s calm voice.
“Now daddy, be civil to Mr. Dern. May I call you Kyle?” the mistress said.
“Absolutely,” Jack said.
“Kyle, you have to understand that daddy is very protective of business and family. The familial bonds need a firm hand and a soft heart, and you are his heart-felt gift to me. You are something I may use for those moments when firm-handed business is concluded and soft-hearted tenderness is inevitable. After all, a father cannot provide for his daughter in every capacity.”
“Certainly,” the Ringmaster said. “This is not West Talon.”
The daughter’s giggle was stately, trained. “Oh, daddy.”
Queen shifted next to Jack, her arms uncomfortably bound at the small of her back. Any flex of a muscle brought a localized electrical shock proportional to her exertion. She had ceased trying to wriggle her hands free, and Jack, the lucky bastard, probably didn’t feel a thing.
“I think,” the mistress said, “I want them to stay with me tonight. They are an ocean of enigma that I must dive into.”
“Mystery is dangerous for a young girl,” her father said.
“How am I to find my way with your hand always there to hinder me?”
Anger edged into his reply. “Your yearning gets the better of you. We must break these people in and condition them first. I have taught you much. Have you retained so little?”
The Ringmistress went to the Ringmaster’s side. Looked over Queen, Jack, then her father. “No, sir.”
He touched her shoulder. His face softened, and he kissed her forehead. “I want you to have everything you deserve. However, we know there is more to these two than they describe. Imponderables.”
The Ringmistress sighed. “Yes, the scan was clear. You know how I am around curiosities – they madden me so.”
“I know,” the old master said. Then, “You may stay with them tonight, but I am leaving Jeffry and Henry with you for safekeeping.”
“They’re such dreadful bores. But you are right. Caution is best in this case.”
“I am glad you agree. You did well last night during the negotiation. I think it only fair to meet you in the middle.”
He took his daughter into his arms.
“Now I must rest. Play easy with your new toys.” The Ringmaster walked forward and stood so close to Queen that she could smell the tobacco on his breath. “And you two sleep mindfully.”
“We will, sir,” Jack mumbled.
He nodded and moved on. A heavy door creaked open, closed. An abrupt silence came over the cabin, and she waited it out, her head unmoving. Her mind swam with escape plans. The girl was impatient. Impatience could be used. Maybe.
“Perhaps it is time we retired to bed as well,” the mistress said.
※
The Ringmistress slept with one arm draped over Queen’s stomach, the hand at her ribs limp in slumber. Queen didn’t know if it was because of the watchful eyes of the clones or because she heeded her father’s advice, but the young mistress hadn’t tried anything overtly sexual. She had simply guided her fingertips across Queen’s shoulders, down her sternum, and stopped just short of her midriff. It was not unpleasant, admittedly, as the woman was gentle in her touches. When the mistress turned and inspected Jack the same way, she’d felt a twinge of jealousy. But Jack wasn’t hers, never had been. Now they both belonged to the Ringmistress. As the sense of being called “property” settled over her, the fondling took on a disturbing air.
She shifted beneath the silken covers, fully clothed and unable to sleep. On the other side of their new owner, Jack snored obnoxiously, the sound not achieving any steady rhythm to which she could adjust. The mistress had to be a heavy sleeper; Queen envied the trait. Her bodyguard, the vat-grown giant, sat glaring at the three of them from near the foot of the bed. He was a real trifecta of vigilance, possessiveness, and annoyance.
She lidded her eyes and envisioned strangling the lot of them. If she couldn’t sleep, she could at least dream.
※
Morning sun spread over her face. The giant seated in the purple lounger rose and walked around to Jack’s side of the bed. Heavy hands grasped him by the forearms and lifted him effortlessly over a runway of a shoulder – a fireman hold. Jack seemed like he was sleeping
through the ordeal, but when the clone laid him down on an overstuffed seat he grimaced.
The brute carried Queen in the same fashion, and she went motionless, loose, catching a hint of cloves on his skin. She had forgotten exactly why they smelled like that. Something to do with the nutrients supplied during incubation.
He lowered her onto the lounger next to Jack and her restraints dug against her lower back. She was rewarded with a shock, low voltage. The meathead then lumbered off toward a kitchenette, a chrome-on-black coffeemaker visible on a high, dark wood island. Bubbling noises from the machine.
Queen nudged at Jack’s ankle. Jack nudged hers a second later.
“Just one,” she whispered.
“Two.” He nodded at the bed, where the Ringmistress slept, undisturbed.
“Ignore her. We can take the clone.”
“We have no weapons.”
“We can improvise.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Pain meds wore off.”
“Then I’ll do it myself, fucking baby.” Mindful of her restraints, she tried to get up, but his bandaged foot pushed down on her boot.
“Wait,” he breathed. “Someone’s comin’.”
A wooden door creaked open, two people entered the room. The towering one closed the door courteously behind the shorter one, the father. He wore another three-piece of jet black color. Like the other clone, his escort was still in the beige dress pants and argyle sweater. The Ringmaster went to his daughter’s bedside and ran a thin hand over her forehead. A cherishing glide over pale skin, brown hair.
“Coffee,” he said.
“Two minutes, sir,” said the enormous barista, voice gravelly.
“Keep your voice down. My daughter is sleeping.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Ringmaster set his gaze upon Queen and Jack as they leaned awkwardly in their loungers.
“Henry,” he said, “Stand the woman up.”
Henry obeyed, that vat-grown grasp ready to snap her neck at the order. In the face of this, she was calm. The Ringmaster came forth, and once again the tobacco was fresh on his breath.
“Did my daughter’s albino sleep well?”
The brute’s fingers clamped tighter on Queen’s throat. “Yes.”
He slapped her across her cheek. “Yes what?”
“Yes. Sir,” she said, and tasted blood. So you’re augmented, too.
“Do not forget your place.”
“I won’t, sir.” Nor would she forget to break his overpriced jawline.
The daughter stirred.
“Sit.”
Queen was forced down onto the seat again. The Ringmaster returned to the Ringmistress’ bedside, soon to take her hand and help her kindly from the memory foam. She blew a good morning kiss to Jack, and he caught it in his teeth. She giggled.
“Did your toys behave themselves, dear?” The Ringmaster kissed her cheek.
“Yes, daddy,” she yawned. “They were the apex of compliance.”
“That is what I like to hear.” The old master snapped his fingers. A giant hand fulfilled his request for coffee, the colorless mug exhaling wisps. Sipping, he said, “Well done, Jeffry.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I expect our things packed soon,” the Ringmaster said between quaffs. “See to my suite, Henry.”
Henry’s response was a bow and egression. The hallway insulation dampened his thunderous bootfalls. The Ringmaster seemed to listen to his servant’s departure, while his daughter freshened herself with a portable mirror and make-up kit on a stool at the kitchenette island. To her right, Jeffry stayed attentive.
Queen tested the elasticity of the conductive rope that bound her, but even the slyest movement of the fingers was awarded a jolt straight through each arm. She clenched her teeth as the pain coursed. The detection sensitivity and amps were set higher than a moment ago. She didn’t know whether the father or daughter was in possession of the remote, had not seen it on either person.
“Father,” the daughter said, wet-wiping her cheeks.
“Daughter,” replied the father.
“I wish for my pets to keep me company on the ride home.”
“Do you now?”
“I think it only right, since I was so careful.”
He was looking at the wall, as if he could peer beyond it, see his servant’s every action, when he asked, “And do you have it on your person, dear?”
“You mean–”
“Yes, dear.”
“I have it,” she began, sounding uncertain, “right . . . here. No. I know it was in my gown last night.”
“Before you climbed in bed?” He turned his attention to the pair of enslaved assassins.
“I checked for it before and after. I am not that foolish.”
The Ringmaster signaled Jeffry with a casual sweep of the hand. The brute marched over and came to a stop in front of Queen.
“Up with her again,” the Ringmaster said. Dismayed, the Ringmistress scraped her steel barstool back. Her father raised his hand and quieted her immediately.
“No more of this until we know. Jeffry.”
Jeffry seized Queen by the head and lifted her up on her tip-toes. It was a new experience for her.
“Hey man, be careful. We’re delicate,” Jack said.
“I have changed my mind,” the old man said. “Search him first.”
The beefcake’s fingers disengaged, and she dropped back onto the cushion of the seat. The conductive rope tore the skin of her wrists. She ground her teeth, held in the dual pain of electricity and constriction as she repositioned herself. She glanced at Jack in time to see the brute’s hand reach down for him.
When it was near, he struck.
Metal rope whipped around and slashed the musclehead’s face at a diagonal, upper right forehead to bottom left cheek. He stumbled back and grabbed at his wound. Jack sprang, the rope-turned-whip raised over his shoulder and ready for another strike. He didn’t get the chance to follow up his attack.
A fist punched him square in the chest, sent a rush of air out of him in a grunt. Jack kept hold of the whip as he crashed to the wooden floor, attempted to scramble to his feet and was soundly kicked in the side of the head. He didn’t try to move again, or wasn’t able.
Stupid son of a bitch.
“You see, daughter,” the Ringmaster said in low, scolding voice. “You cannot trust these people until they’ve seen the error of defiance.” He hunched over, patted Jack down, and unzipped a flat circle of black metal from one of the flight suit pockets. The Ringmistress stood beside him.
“You hurt him,” she whined.
“He lacerated Jeffry, dear. And would have done the same to us, had I not suspected him.” To Jeffry: “Find Henry and have him mend you; you’re bleeding abundantly.”
“Sir.”
As the door shut, the Ringmistress shook her head and said, “He was such a willing creature last night.” She cast a curious eye on Queen. “This one might very well have plans on our lives, too. I think they have both earned the trunk, and additional constraints.”
“There’s the wisdom,” said the old man, standing. “And do you also believe she has earned more immediate punishment?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation. She offered her upturned hand to her father. He placed the circular device in her palm, and her fingers furled around it. There was no pity in the Ringmistress’ prim, young countenance. Queen thought, in fact, she saw the thinnest of smiles.
Electricity shot through her body.
※
“Real nice work,” Queen muttered.
She was tied to the felt floor of a hovercraft trunk. No light, everything dark. They must have been in the air, because her ears kept popping and the compartment was shaking. Minor turbulence. She was very aware of how tight her bindings were, but if she focused her anger on Jack, she found she could stomach it a little better.
Jack stirred beside her. “Hey, I
fucked that guy’s face up.”
“Maybe if you would have gotten my restraints off, we–”
“In a mystical dreamland where I had time to do that, yeah.” His hostility was muffled by a black cloth bag. “You didn’t even make an effort.”
She sucked in her breath. “And you didn’t use the device until we were outnumbered. The old man is sporting hardware.”
“My concussion can attest to that,” Jack sulked.
“Poor baby.”
With the lull in conversation, she couldn’t concentrate on anything but Jack’s breathing. She felt the walls in the darkness closing in around her. Couldn’t stretch out, couldn’t breathe. She twisted at the restraints around her chest and waist.
“Stop,” Jack said, “You’re making it worse.”
She turned her head towards his voice. “Just keep talking if you want to help.”
“Can I talk now?”
“Yes.”
“About what?”
“You have nothing you want to say to me?”
Silence.
“Please just talk.”
“You didn’t get the better of me.”
“What?”
“In the clearin’. I let you shoot me.”
She was sweating inside of her bag. Hot. It was too fucking warm in this trunk. Rumble of turbulence along her shoulder blades.
“What are you talking about?”
“You were a test,” he said. “Once I killed you, they would have given me Seniority. Company secret, but what the fuck do I care now?”
“Are you making this up?” She’d never heard of Seniority or any kind of test. Not as if he hasn’t lied before.
“What reason do I have now? Ten years of work gone.”
“Ten years?”
“Been workin’ there since I was your age.”
“Why did you wait? Because I had to be delivered to Chamber first?”
The compartment jostled. His tone hardened. “That was part of it, but mainly ‘cause, you know, I didn’t want to melt the face off someone I cared about. Stupid shit like that.”
Sweat on her palms, and she traced her fingertips over them. “You expect me to believe that? Or anything you’re feeding me?”
“I’m talkin’, like you wanted. Can’t control what you do or don’t believe.” Pause, then his tone softened. “Do you need me to do anythin’? You’re breathin’ heavy.”