Taratus was leaning against the bedpost, watching them. Eight guards stood in formation behind him, all armed with neural blockers.
Why hadn’t he known when Taratus came in? Proximity to an Aristo usually made him feel as if he were falling into a hole. Yet even with Taratus only a few meters away, Kelric had only a muffled sense of his mind. Surprised, he realized the cocktail in the syringe must have also contained a drug that dampened his empathic reception. But why? It made no sense for Taratus to protect him from Aristos.
The admiral looked amused. In Skolian Flag he asked, “Did you enjoy yourself?” Then he laughed. “I don’t really need to ask, do I? There wasn’t much doubt.” His voice cooled as he glanced at the provider. In Highton he said, “Up, doll.”
The girl let go of Kelric and slid out of bed. Standing next to Taratus, she wrapped her arms around her body and stared at the floor, her cheeks red. Kelric hadn’t realized how small she was. She barely came up to the admiral’s chest.
Taratus was tall even for an Aristo, though. He wore a black ESComm uniform with black knee-boots. The only color on his uniform was the red ribbing on the sleeves that marked him as an admiral. His relaxed stance didn’t fool Kelric; Taratus was as tense as steel.
Aware of his disadvantage, Kelric pulled on his jumpsuit, then got out of bed on the side away from Taratus and walked to a console across the room. Leaning back against its chair, he crossed his arms and regarded the admiral, waiting to see what he would do next.
Taratus considered him. Then he put his arm around the girl and glanced at her. “The escort will take you to my quarters.”
“Yes, my lord,” she murmured. Her revulsion for him had such intensity, Kelric wondered that Taratus didn’t shrivel up and burn from it. If the warlord had any clue as to how she felt, he gave no indication.
After two guards took the girl from the room, Taratus came over to Kelric. Again he spoke in Skolian. “You seemed to have pleased my little doll.”
Kelric wanted to punch him. “She’s a human being. Not a doll.”
“Ah. Yes, I had forgotten. You Skolians consider yourself human.” He scratched his chin. “I suppose you are.”
That surprised Kelric. He had never heard an Aristo acknowledge that anyone besides Aristos qualified as human. In his youth he had thought they made that claim to justify their enslavement of nearly two trillion people. Over the years he came to realize they believed their propaganda.
“You think I’m human?” Kelric asked, certain he had misheard.
Taratus shrugged. “We all have the same ancestors. Aristos may be better humans than the rest of you, but we’re all from the same stock.”
Kelric stared at him. “If you acknowledge we’re human, how can you justify what you do?”
“I don’t have to.” Taratus studied him. “You know, you don’t sound like someone who grew up on a farm. Perhaps you aren’t really a farmer, hmmm?”
Kelric tensed. Although it was true what he had told Taratus, that he had spent his childhood on a farm, he had neglected to mention anything else about his identity. “I worked hard to earn my ISC commission.”
Taratus rubbed his chin. “I’ve never understood this about you Skolians, that any of you is free to seek a higher station in life.” He shook his head. “I’m surprised your Imperialate hasn’t collapsed from the chaos.”
“Why would not having a caste system make it collapse?” In his mind Kelric began to assign Quis tags to their words. He wasn’t sure why, except that this was such an odd conversation. He wanted to think about it later.
“You don’t think giving people upward mobility destabilizes a society?” Taratus asked.
“Of course not. It inspires people to work harder.”
The admiral looked intrigued. “If anyone can aspire to climb the mountain, it makes those at the top feel a lack of security. So they protect themselves. Which causes resentment in the general population. That leads to disorder and unrest.”
“That’s a typical Aristo argument.”
Taratus regarded him with curiosity. “Why do you say that?”
Kelric shrugged. “Aristos reason in direct opposition to the truth. If you hurt someone, you say they hurt you. If you make a mistake that causes a problem for someone else, you claim they made a mistake that caused a problem for you. You take measures to solve problems that don’t exist, and through those measures you create the very problems you’re protecting yourself against. You treat people as if you hate them and call it love.”
Taratus raised his eyebrows. “And how does this supposed ‘logic’ apply to my previous statement?”
“If you enslave people,” Kelric said, “then no matter how pleasant you make their lives, they’ll want what you have. Freedom. You force them to seek your power, because only through that can they dismantle the system you’ve set up.”
“An interesting interpretation.” Taratus paused. “But if anyone can attain power, riches, or freedom, that means it will no longer be concentrated in the families of a few.”
“So?”
He spread his hands, as if revealing the obvious. “Those of us on the mountain desire to stay there. We like owning everyone else, having the wealth, wielding the power. We’ve no intention of giving it up.”
Dryly Kelric said, “At least you’re more honest about it than most Aristos.”
Taratus smiled. “Do you know, I’ve never had a conversation like this. Even my highest-ranking officers avoid anything they fear might antagonize me. They are all taskmakers, after all. I’ve bought and sold a few other Skolians, but they were too frightened to say much. And Eubian-bred providers—well, I’m sure you can imagine.” He tilted his head, regarding Kelric. “I’m tempted to keep you myself, just for the intelligent discussion.”
Kelric had no answer for that. He had no interest in providing anything for any Aristo, intelligent or otherwise.
“I think not,” Taratus decided. “I’d rather have the wealth an auction will bring in. The session today will skyrocket your price.”
Kelric tensed. “Session?”
“The recording of your little interlude with my provider.”
He stared at the admiral. “You recorded it? To show the bidders?”
“Indeed.” Taratus seemed intrigued by his dismay. “I suppose you’ve never seen yourself in action. Did you ever consider becoming a courtesan? I doubt you would have an equal, if your performance this afternoon was any indication.”
Kelric scowled. “You can go rot in a Dieshan whorehouse.”
Amusement trickled from Taratus’s mind. “Why should I bother? I’ve hundreds of pleasure slaves of far better caliber than anything you Skolians produce.” His voice took on an edge. “Although my little doll liked you well enough.”
He picked up what Taratus didn’t say. It galled the Aristo that his provider preferred Kelric. That gave Kelric a glimmer of satisfaction, until he realized Taratus would take his anger out on the girl. Could he protect her? An idea came to him, one Taratus could never verify.
“Your ‘doll’ is a good actor,” Kelric said. “But you should have known she couldn’t fool a telepath.”
Taratus narrowed his gaze. “Meaning?”
“I knew she was faking it.” With a shrug, he added, “So much for your sales pitch.”
“You know, you can become tiresome.” Despite his cool tone, though, the Aristo’s impulse to make the girl pay for her pleasure faded from his mind. “In any event, the bidders won’t know it was faked.” He scrutinized Kelric. “Unless you tell them.”
“Why would I tell them?”
“One could say you exhibit less than the ideal deference for a provider.” He cleared his throat. “Then there is the matter of your, shall we say, less than optimum health. I can’t have you revealing that either.”
“If you cheat them, the buyer can bring suit against you.”
“Well, perhaps. If the auction is legal.”
As far as Kelric knew, Eu
be was the only place where it was legal to hold slave auctions. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Taxes,” Taratus explained. “I’m not a Silicate Aristo. That means not only will I have to pay taxes on your sale to the palace, I also have to pay the Silicate Houses that oversee commerce in providers. Altogether it would come to almost forty percent of what I make on you.” He frowned. “It really is an outrage. Forty percent. When I’m doing all the work of acquisition and sale.”
Kelric gave him a sour look. “You’re breaking my heart.”
“No need to worry. I simply won’t reveal the sale.”
“How can you not reveal it? Doesn’t the buyer have to register me or something?”
“Well, in theory, yes.”
“In theory?”
Smoothly Taratus said, “I’m sure whoever purchases you will report it to the appropriate authorities in a timely manner.”
“But?”
The admiral laughed. “You see, my dear farmer, the buyer must also pay insurance on you.”
“You buy insurance on your slaves?” Kelric couldn’t believe he was having this conversation.
“It’s mandatory on any sale over a million. Supposedly to protect valuable property.” He snorted. “But here is the truth. If you can afford a provider worth that much, the government wants its cut of your wealth. Do you know, the same office that taxes the seller also sells insurance to the buyer? It’s appalling.”
“I’m sure,” Kelric said dryly. “So you and the buyer will just make a sleazy little deal behind the scenes, is that it?”
“Such a crude description.” Taratus seemed more entertained than offended. “We will reach a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
“Until the buyer finds out you cheated her.”
“Ah, but imagine.” Taratus grinned. “She must report the transaction without delay. Otherwise she forfeits her purchase—that’s you, by the way—to the government. So if she later goes to the authorities, after she discovers the truth, they will investigate and discover that for a phenomenally low price she bought a phenomenally expensive slave. Of course she wasn’t cheated.”
“I’m impressed,” Kelric said. “You raise the art of devious crime to new heights.”
“I do believe I’ve been insulted.” Taratus actually laughed. “I’m going to miss you.”
Kelric wondered if he had a bargaining point, though he wasn’t sure what he could bargain for. “What’s to stop me from telling the bidders what you plan?”
“Nothing, I suppose.” Taratus didn’t look concerned. “I could have your vocal cords removed.”
Kelric stared at him. “No.”
“It might lower your sale price,” he mused. “It would depend on the buyer.” He considered Kelric. “Do it for the girl.”
“The girl?”
“My doll.”
“She’s a human being, damn it. Not a doll.”
Taratus gave him a brittle smile. “I’m not stupid, you know. I’m aware she wasn’t faking her response to you. If you want me to let her live, keep your silence.”
Kelric froze. “You would kill her just for liking me?”
“I’ve grown rather tired of her.”
He doubted Taratus would care about her interest in another slave if he really had grown tired of her. “I don’t believe you would kill her.”
“How would you ever know?”
“Promise you won’t hurt her at all.”
“Hurt her?”
“That you won’t use her to transcend,” Kelric said. “That you won’t torture her, you bloody bastard.”
“So it’s true,” Taratus murmured. “You high-level psions do fall in love easily, don’t you?”
“This has nothing to do with love. It’s called human decency.”
“Your definition of decency. Which, I might remind you, most Hightons would find flawed.” When Kelric stiffened, Taratus held up his hand. “Nevertheless. I agree.”
“You do?”
“For two tendays I won’t transcend with her. And I won’t punish her for enjoying herself with you.”
It was better than nothing. Kelric had no way to make Taratus keep his word, but the admiral surprised him. In the warlord’s mind, he detected a genuine intent to abide by his promise.
Taratus indicated a rumpled pile of black velvet on the bed, the trousers the girl had brought. “You get dressed. I will send an escort for you when the bidders are ready.”
“I’ve a better idea,” Kelric said.
“Indeed?” Taratus inquired. “What might that be?”
“Let me go home.”
The warlord was still laughing when he left the room.
11
Auction
“Forget it,” Kelric told the empty room. Even on Coba, where he had often been given sexually suggestive clothes, the effect had been understated, suitable for a man of his rank and title. Not so for these trousers. Made from sleek black velvet, they fit like a skin slung low on his hips. A strip of his own skin showed along the outer seam of each leg, from ankle to waist. Gold chains crisscrossed the open strip like metal laces and a heavier chain served as a belt.
Kelric changed back into his loose white jumpsuit and threw the black trousers on the bed. He wondered if they disintegrated like the girl’s bodysuit. He didn’t want to dwell on the implications of a positive answer to that question.
He sat in the chair at the console and tried its controls. None responded. So he got up and paced around the room, too restless to sit. He felt edgy. Tense. The nanogels, aphrodisiacs, and suppressant still hadn’t worn off. He wondered if Taratus was making love to the sweetly soft copper girl. The thought made him grit his teeth until his jaw ached.
For a while he played mind-Quis. Each time he worked out a pattern, he tagged it with a psicon, the mental equivalent of the icons used by computers. He had Bolt store the data, either the pattern itself or the steps he used to create it. Sometimes he stored algorithms he designed with the patterns. His psicons might be visual, aural, even a smell or taste. When he later imagined an icon, the data associated with it came up as fully formed concepts in his mind.
That Bolt could re-create his thoughts meant the node could still send messages to his brain. Although the software Bolt used to produce “spoken” thoughts no longer operated, the routines for storing and accessing tagged memories seemed fine.
Eventually six armed guards showed up in his room. They entered in perfect formation, coming through three different archways that simultaneously shimmered into existence. Kelric stood in the middle of the room and watched them. They in turn regarded him with neutral expressions. They might as well have been robots for all the emotional range their minds projected.
One lieutenant picked up the trousers Kelric had dumped on the bed. With a puzzled look, he extended the garment to Kelric. Crossing his arms, Kelric glowered at him.
The lieutenant tried one more time. When Kelric continued to ignore him, the guard dropped the trousers on the bed. Although the other guards maintained their bland expressions, Kelric felt their confusion. He was an enigma. Apparently it wasn’t even within their psychological makeup to imagine a slave defying a direct order from an Aristo.
They took him out into an octagonal tunnel. Metal tiles with polygon shapes patterned its surfaces. Wherever he looked, he saw mosaics of flowering vines. It wasn’t hard to guess Taratus’s preferences in women; hidden within the mosaics were subtle images of bare women, every one similar to the provider he had sent Kelric. All eight walls of the corridor were identical; if the ship changed to a weightless environment, no recognizable “down” would exist. Every ten or so paces, an octagonal arch of bronze bars framed the corridor. The “metal” glowed from within, giving it a luminous quality.
As they walked, they passed openings into other octagonal tunnels. At the fourth intersection, they stopped. Looking down the corridor, Kelric saw Taratus striding toward them with two more guards. Stark in his black admiral’s
uniform, his face impassive, he didn’t look like the same man who only an hour ago had spoken to Kelric with such curiosity.
The guards saluted Taratus as he joined their group. The admiral nodded absently, lost in thought. They all set off together, down the corridor Kelric’s group had been following.
Taratus fell into step with Kelric. The admiral watched him for a while, until finally Kelric raised his eyebrows in question.
“Can you walk without the limp?” Taratus asked.
“No,” Kelric said.
“I suppose whoever buys you can fix it if they don’t like it.” He tilted his head. “You didn’t do what I told you to do.”
Kelric knew what he meant. “The trousers didn’t fit.” “Of course they fit.”
“Not the way I wear my clothes.”
Taratus’s bearing eased as he laughed. “Ah, well. I suppose the bidders aren’t that interested in your clothes.”
That surprised Kelric. He had always thought of Aristos as rigid and unbending, with no sense of humor. He had expected the warlord to demand obedience, even if it meant using drugs or force to subdue his prisoner. Apparently Aristos varied more than he thought. Not that it mattered. The end result was still the same. That Taratus found his defiance entertaining wouldn’t stop the auction.
The hall ended in an octahedral foyer that glistened like liquid bronze, though the walls felt solid to his touch. Taratus crossed the foyer and pressed a panel. The wall in front of him cleared, forming a window into the next chamber. Kelric suspected it was one-way dichromesh glass that appeared opaque on the other side.
The admiral beckoned to him. “Come look.”
Puzzled, Kelric went over and stood with him. The room beyond made even his luxurious quarters seem impoverished in comparison. Octagonal in shape, with a high ceiling, the chamber glimmered. Gold carpet, gold walls, gold floor, gold ceiling. Radiance bars curled in graceful designs on the ceiling. A large airbed stood in a far corner, its frame and posts also gold. Abstract holos swirled in the air above it like a gilded, luminous canopy.