The Well of Time

by Robert I. Katz

  Frankie, wearing a tiny swimsuit that comprised three small squares of cloth and two nearly invisible strings, dived off the simulated cliff, did two twists and a mid-air somersault before cutting into the warm water, then swam back to the side of the pool, stalked out and flopped down on the lounge next to Michael. She smiled at him. He smiled back.

  They made a handsome couple. They weren’t trying to attract attention but they were attracting it anyway. Michael’s augmented hearing could pick up all the commentary within a hundred meters. Little of it was interesting but one small group of three young men held his attention.

  “He doesn’t look like a pushover,” one of them said. Michael peered at him from the corner of his eye. He seemed young, not a surprise since almost everybody could look as young as they wished, but this character also acted young. So did his two friends.

  “Three of us, one of him. He won’t be any trouble. Besides, neither of them are likely to remember anything. They’ll both wake up with a hangover. She’ll know she’s been fucked a few times but so what? She’ll assume she did it with her boyfriend.”

  The third one grunted.

  “What’s so amusing?” Frankie asked.

  Andreas Richter had a point, Michael thought. Human beings are, by nature, predators, some of them more so than others. “Would you like to have a little fun?” Michael said.

  She looked at him.

  “Follow my lead.”

  Michael got up from his lounge, stretched his arms over his head and held a hand out to Frankie. He pulled her up, put his arms around her and kissed her, then nuzzled her neck and licked the sensitive spot behind her ear.

  She giggled. “Who are you trying to impress?” she whispered.

  “The three guys across the pool are planning on drugging us and raping you. A gentle rape, nothing too violent. You won’t know it’s happening and when you wake up, you’ll think we must have gotten drunk and had hot, passionate sex. Too bad neither of us will remember what must have been an enjoyable evening.”

  Frankie frowned. “Oh.” She glanced across the pool at the three would-be rapists. “Sure,” she said. She kissed him again and gave a quick, crooked smile. “Let’s have fun.”

  A row of native trees that resembled palms surrounded the pool. Beyond the trees lay a garden filled with rows of low, colorful flowers and beyond the garden, a gate opened onto the beach, where a small railed wooden deck surrounded a restaurant that specialized in fruity tropical drinks, brown crabs, and grilled fish. Michael and Frankie walked across the sand toward the restaurant. The three would-be rapists rose to their feet, exchanging grins, and followed them.

  Michael and Frankie sat at a wooden table near the edge of the deck. A harried looking waitress grinned at them, placed glasses of ice water and two menus on the table. “I’ll be right back to take your order.”

  “So,” Frankie said. “How are these drugs supposed to be administered?”

  “Romulus?

  Romulus voice echoed through the tiny server in Michael’s skull. “I have five microdrones scanning them.” Michael noted a swarm of what appeared to be small insects buzzing around the intended rapists’ heads. One of them irritably waved a hand at the swarm.

  “The individual in front carries a vial of what appears to be a liquid in his pocket,” Romulus said. “They are unarmed.”

  “Do they have injectors?”

  “None.”

  “Any idea who they are?”

  “They are registered with the resort as Allen Chao, Drew Peters and Wesley Jameson. They are cousins, from Nereid-3, a member of the Chalion Protectorate.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “A small grouping of seven star systems. Relatively civilized. Contacted by the Second Empire nearly a century ago. There is no other data available.”

  Michael cocked an eyebrow at Frankie. “Presumably, they’ll spike our drinks.”

  “And what if we don’t give them an opportunity?”

  Michael, whose profession in the distant past had required that he make his own opportunities, did not think it would be very difficult. One of them could “accidentally” stumble into either Michael or Frankie. In the confusion, another would drop a little something into their drinks; or they could wander through the service area on their way to the bathroom and get at the drinks before the waitstaff picked them up.

  He grinned. “Let’s see how it goes.”

  Their drinks arrived. They placed their order. The waitress hurried away.

  Beautiful place, Michael thought. Even as a young boy, he had gravitated toward tropical climates, blue skies and blue seas, with a hot sun overhead and cool breezes swaying the leaves on lush, green vegetation. Cassidy’s climate was much like Dancy’s, the Empire’s capital during the long, cold winter on Reliance. Michael and the crew had spent a lot of time on Dancy over the past few years. He had grown quite fond of the place.

  The three men took a table a few feet away. They pretended to ignore Michael and Frankie.

  “Let’s make it easy for them,” Frankie said, rising to her feet.

  “Good idea.” Both Frankie and Michael stood up and went to the restrooms, leaving their drinks behind. Michael returned first. The drinks appeared undisturbed. He sat down, smiled at the waves lapping at the beach, picked up his glass and sipped. He recognized the combination of alkaloids almost instantly and nodded to himself. Nothing his augmented metabolism couldn’t handle.

  It was hot out. He drained half the glass, caught the waitress’ eye and ordered another.

  “Coming right up,” she said.

  From the corner of his eye, he could see Chao, Peters and Jameson smiling at each other.

  Frankie returned and sat down, her back to the other men. “Well?”

  “Hallucinogenic,” he said. “Don’t drink it.”

  She grinned at him. “You have all the fun.”

  He grinned back. “Just wait.”

  The waitress returned with Michael’s new drink and took away the empty glass. Michael leaned toward Frankie and kissed her on the lips, while covertly switching their drinks. They both sat back, a happy smile on Michael’s face, a slight frown on Frankie’s. She picked up her glass and took a long sip.

  The three assholes smirked. “Won’t be long, now,” one of them said.

  “God, she’s gorgeous,” the second one said. “I love those slim, tight ones. I’m really looking forward to this.”

  Michael could hear them. Nobody else could. So am I, he thought.

  A minute went by. To Michael, the sun appeared momentarily brighter. Iridescent patterns coated the waves. He held his fingers up in front of his face and waved them, giggling at the small ripples of colored light they left behind. Then the drug vanished. Quite a little trip. He slumped down in his chair, his expression vacant. Frankie copied him.

  Allen Chao held out his hand, palm up. Drew Peters gave it a little slap. “Got them,” he said. All three rose and walked over. “You’ve had a little too much to drink,” Wesley Jameson said. “Why don’t you come with us? We’ll take care of you.” He grinned. “Maybe have a little fun.”

  Allen Chao placed a couple of large bills of the local currency down on the table.

  Michael bleared up at them. He shook his head and allowed a confused expression to cross his face. Frankie stared out at the sea, her eyes wide. She giggled. “Whoa…” she whispered.

  “Happy, isn’t she?” Drew said.

  Allen grinned. “She’ll be a lot happier soon.”

  “Up you go, then,” Wesley said.

  Michael and Frankie both stumbled to their feet.

  “Excellent,” Allen said. “This way.”

  A thicket of tropical trees lay behind a row of sand dunes. A cobbled path wound through the trees, then took a course past numerous small ponds containing koi and colorful birds. Gazebos surrounded each pond for guests to sit and enjoy the scenery.

  Isolated, Michael thought, but not isolated enough for what th
ese three were planning. They wouldn’t do it here. Sure enough, they were led through the thicket into a collection of tall dunes. A canvas overhead suspended on poles covered a depression enclosed by the dunes. A large, inflatable mattress, three folding chairs and a cooler, probably containing drinks, surrounded the mattress.

  “Sit down,” Drew said to Michael. Michael blinked and lowered himself into a chair.

  “Romulus?” Michael subvocalized.

  “I am transmitting to the local police. They will arrive within ten minutes.”

  So far, it all looked like a few friends out for a stroll, about to enjoy a beer or two, not much evidence of wrong doing and nothing for the police to act on.”

  Allen Chao grinned at Frankie. “Why don’t you lie down, Sugar?”

  Frankie squinted at him. She shook her head. “Don’t want to,” she slurred.

  Wesley frowned. “Maybe she needs a little more.”

  “Don’t want to,” Frankie muttered again.

  Allen shrugged. “It doesn’t matter at this point. She won’t remember a thing.” He smiled. “I don’t mind it when they fight a little. It makes the sex even hotter.” He leered at Frankie. “God, she’s making me hard.”

  Frankie stood next to the mattress. A troubled expression crossed her face. “Don’t want to,” she said again.

  Drew smiled. He reached out and released the tie on Frankie’s top. Frankie’s breathing came faster. She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “No,” she said. “Stop that.”

  Allen Chao shook his head. “Not a chance,” he said. All three crowded around Frankie.

  Michael rose to his feet. “The lady said ‘stop.’ That means you should stop.”

  All three stared at him. “Oh, fuck,” Wesley said.

  “So.” Michael smiled. “What are you going to do now, tough guy?”

  Frankie laughed.

  “Kill him,” Wesley said.

  Allen and Drew looked at each other, uncertain.

  Frankie, forgotten for the moment, reached up and re-tied the strings on her top.

  Wesley took a step toward Michael and pulled back his fist. Allen and Drew each attempted to grab Frankie by the arms. Frankie rolled backward over the mattress and bounced back onto her feet. Michael didn’t even bother to dodge. His hand lashed out and caught Wesley’s fist as it travelled toward his face. The fist stopped. Michael smiled and kicked Wesley in the groin. Wesley screamed and collapsed. He grabbed his crotch and curled up around his aching testicles, panting.

  Allen and Drew stared at Wesley, hesitating.

  “Put your hands up,” a voice said. “You are all under arrest.”

  Frankie laughed.

  Captain Edmund Jacobs stared at Michael’s smiling face. His men had separated Michael and Frankie as soon as they reached the police station. Frankie, presumably, was being questioned by somebody else in another room.

  The drones had recorded everything, from the three assholes’ initial conversations, to Drew spiking Michael and Frankie’s drinks, to their abortive attempts at assault and forcible rape. The drug had already been analyzed. It was—or should have been—an open and shut case, yet Captain Jacobs seemed less than happy.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “You’ve already asked me that,” Michael said.

  “And I’m asking it again.”

  Michael shrugged. “I’m the captain of a merchant vessel. My crew and I are on vacation.”

  Captain Jacobs stared at him. Michael stared back.

  “The recording you supplied us shows you swallowing a drink that had been spiked with a combination of hallucinogenic drugs. Yet you showed no ill effects. The recording showed you switching the young lady’s drink for a clean one. Also, when one of your assailants attempted to strike you, you were able to catch his fist, seemingly without effort. You are far stronger and faster than you appear. These are not things that a merchant captain should be able to do.

  “Also, I have never heard of a merchant captain who surrounds himself with drones capable of recording their every movement, and I wonder, what else can those drones do?”

  Michael frowned at him. “Frankly, Captain, my capabilities, my actions, and the uses to which I put my property, are none of your business.”

  Captain Jacobs clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He sighed. “No, I suppose not. So long as you break none of our laws, I have no reason to hold you. You may do as you please.”

  “Good that we got that settled.”

  Captain Jacobs sat back into his chair and suddenly looked tired. “The three young men pose a problem. They are the sons of very wealthy men. Their fathers, though not citizens of our nation, have numerous business interests here and are influential. It is entirely possible that you will be pressured to drop the charges.”

  “And if we do?”

  “Then the charges will be dropped.”

  Michael looked at him. “In most legal systems, a crime, strictly speaking, is not against the individual. It’s against the state. We can choose to drop the charges, but even if we did, you could still pursue them.”

  “That would be up to my superiors, not to me, but I know what they will say. In such cases, when the principal witnesses”—Captain Jacobs inclined his head toward Michael—“choose not to cooperate, it is our policy to drop the case, under the theory that the available evidence will be insufficient to obtain a conviction.”

  “We’ve given you a recording. How much more evidence do you need?”

  “Recordings.” Captain Jacobs shrugged. “Easily faked.”

  Michael considered Captain Jacob’s bland face. Somehow, he had the impression that Captain Jacobs would prefer that the charges not be dropped. “Let’s see what happens,” Michael said. “I think we’ll let the charges stand.”

  Captain Jacobs gave him a very slight smile. “Of course,” he said. “We will support you in whatever you decide.”

  “It would have been easier,” Richard Norlin said, “to make them disappear.” They were sitting in the resort’s main dining room, eating a late lunch.

  Michael had to agree with him. Nobody on this world had the slightest inkling of Gehenna’s capabilities, or even its presence in orbit. If they did, they would probably shit their pants. Even Shiloh, disguised as a merchant vessel, could destroy the combined might of Cassidy’s paltry military forces.

  Gehenna had released over five thousand drones, spread out across the world. The drones hovered, recording everything. Waiting.

  Meanwhile, until something more significant happened, they might as well amuse themselves.

  “Let the local authorities handle it,” Michael said.

  Rosanna smiled at them all. “Please pass the chicken,” she said.

  Richard passed the chicken, thought better of whatever he had been about to say, and shrugged.

  Chapter 4

  Nothing happened for the next few days. Michael spent most of the time with Frankie, lounging out by the pool, scuba diving off the substantial coral reef, jet-surfing, soaking up the light from Cassidy’s tepid sun. It was impossible to get a tan from the light of a red dwarf but this close to its primary, Cassidy loomed over them all like a bloated orange, casting a pale pink glow. Quite a sight, once you got over feeling like the sun was about to engulf the entire world.

  The rest of the crew amused themselves. The resort had a casino. Matthew and Marissa Oliver spent a lot of time there. They possessed their family’s enhanced senses and could tell within a few minutes if an opponent was holding a good hand or a bad one. Michael thought that other players might soon be reluctant to play with them, but it seemed there was indeed a sucker born every minute.

  Curly and Rosanna took a tour inland, to view some ancient ruins left by a long extinct alien race. They were gone for three days and returned, looking pensive.

  Gloriosa found herself a couple on a second honeymoon looking for a young woman they could celebrate the occasion with. This worri
ed Michael at first, until he saw the three of them at breakfast after their first night together. Gloriosa looked very pleased with herself and both the man and the woman seemed eager to satisfy her every whim. Comical, since they were both so much larger than she. Gloriosa, despite her tiny size, liked to give orders. Apparently, this quirk extended to her behavior in the bedroom, but the three of them were laughing and giggling and seemed happy together.

  Richard Norlin spent most of his time indoors, plugged into his keyboard and synthesizers, playing and composing.

  Henrik Anson fretted. “How much time are we going to give this venture?” he asked.

  Michael had been asking himself the same thing. “Hard to say.” He shrugged. “A few more days, at least.”

  The next day, a middle-aged looking man, carrying a briefcase and dressed in a suit characteristic of the local legal establishment approached Michael and Frankie as they ate lunch in the small restaurant on the beach. “Captain Glover?” he said.

  Michael looked at him. “Yes?”

  “My name is Dennis Okafor.” He nodded toward Frankie. “And you are Miss Frances Holder. Might I speak with the both of you?”

  “Certainly,” Michael said. Frankie nodded and sipped her tea. “Please sit down. Can we get you anything?”

  Dennis Okafor sat. “Frightfully hot here,” he said, wiping his brow with a piece of cloth that he pulled from a pocket. “But no, thank you.”

  Michael shrugged. The man was wearing a suit on the beach. It was hot.

  Dennis Okafor reached into his briefcase and pulled out a small device. He set it on top of the table and pressed a button on its side. A spherical containment field slid over the table, extending out to two meters on each side.

  “So,” Dennis Okafor said. “I have been hired to represent the interests of Allen Chao, Drew Peters and Wesley Jameson.” He paused. Frankie looked at him and sipped her tea. Michael nodded. Dennis Okafor cleared his throat and continued. “Let me put my cards on the table. You have proffered charges against these young men that the evidence does not warrant.”