Abducted Read online

  “What does it matter?” I said, frowning. “It’s a common enough sight.”

  “Not on Gallana,” he said, shifting. He was dressed in a long, black cloak that fell from his narrow shoulders and swirled around him as he moved. “This is the only place on this Gods-forsaken spaceport where a male can get a little peace and quiet away from the meddling of females.”

  “You are sahjist?” The sahjists were a group of dispossessed males—mostly half or quarter Majorans that didn’t like the way their society was run. They refused to believe in the Goddess-hood of the Empress or the sovereignty of females in general. It went further than that for some of them, though. They said they only wanted equal rights for males but some of them, I knew, fucking hated females with every bone in their bodies. Those were the types—the radicals—you had to watch out for. Especially in a place like Gallana.

  “Not a sahjist, exactly,” the male with the blue hair said. “But I don’t believe in letting females run your life. Of course, they have their uses…” he nodded at the row of sucking, artificial mouths where the Xlexian was just finishing. “But to claim they are superior or in some way divine, well…that’s just foolish. They ought to be kept in their place—preferably chained to a male’s bed. Am I right?”

  He laughed heartily but I didn’t join in. Instead, I took a step away, looking around the district.

  “You’d better keep your voice down,” I told him. “Expressing sentiments like that is liable to earn you a night in lock-down.”

  The Peace Keepers don’t patrol the unattached males district often but when they do, you’d better look out. That’s when all the shady characters you meet on the street melt away and the dirty, rutted walkway is deserted. We were safe for now though—I could still see a cloning-mech trying to sell his services to a male dressed in a trawler pilot’s uniform.

  “Anyone you want—any female that ever caught your eye but you couldn’t have her,” he was saying. “You can have her now—and do whatever you want with her. Doesn’t matter if she wants it or not—take what you want—what’s rightfully yours. It’s perfectly legal because you’ll own her. All it costs is a hundred creds and a small sample of her DNA.”

  The deal turned my stomach. The idea of treating a helpless female so harshly was repugnant to me—even if she was a clone. My thoughts must have shown on my face, though I tried to keep my expression impassive, because the male beside me spoke again.

  “Forgive me. I see you don’t share my views,” he said smoothly.

  “I’m Vorn. Half Vorn, anyway. We don’t believe in worshiping our females like the Gods-damned Majorans but we don’t mistreat them either,” I said harshly. As I spoke, I had a guilty flash of Zoe as I had left her, held tight by the Force-Locks and secured in her room. I pushed the image away irritably—locking her up for safe keeping had been necessary. There was nothing else I could do.

  “Forgive me,” he said again. “Let us speak of more pleasant things, shall we? Such as the fascinating collection of Assimilation medical equipment I understand you have for sale?” Seeing my startled look he added, “I am Count Doloroso, collector of oddities. Your A.L. contacted me about your collection. You are Sarden de’Lagorn, are you not?”

  “I am,” I said. “But I don’t intend to conduct business here. Let’s go inside and get a drink.”

  In the dim interior of The Suck Hole we found a seat and Doloroso pressed the chipped call button for service.

  A fembot waitress with long, matted blue hair and hugely inflated breasts tottered over.

  “How can I service you?” she asked in an artificially seductive tone, batting her eyes—one of which had been blinded by an angry patron and still had the stump of a serving fork sticking out of its empty socket. “Would you care to try my pleasure holes?”

  Lifting the tattered skirt she wore, she displayed a flat, fleshy pelvis with three vaginal slits—one in the center, between her legs where it should be, and two set above it, beside her hip bones. They formed a kind of obscene, inverted triangle.

  “I am able to service all manner of species, not just the Twelve Peoples,” she reported mechanically. “Even three-shafted Yarons are welcome.”

  “Thank you my dear, but we just want something to drink,” Doloroso said smoothly. “A pitcher of your finest Majoran ale, I think.” He looked at me. “Have you ever had it dirty?”

  “No,” I said. “What’s that?”

  “They bring the pitcher and drop a shot of Black Terbian Fire Brandy into it. It’s quite good.”

  I shrugged. “Works for me.”

  “Make it dirty,” Doloroso told the fembot. She nodded jerkily and tottered off. She returned shortly with a full pitcher of amber ale and a small glass filled with murky black liquid. Setting the tray down with erratic movements, she dropped the entire glass into the pitcher.

  A small splash and tendrils of black began to infiltrate the amber. For some reason my stomach lurched uneasily and I thought of Zoe again. Was she all right?

  Of course she’s all right—she’s safe, I told myself sternly. She can’t get out of those Force-Locks no matter what she does and she can’t get into any trouble locked in her room. She’s fine. Relax.

  I tried to but the worried feeling kept nagging at my mind, even as I made the deal with the Count.

  Zoe

  Making my way through the crowded, dark room with only the dim light from the manacles to help me wasn’t easy. There were some areas where the large pieces of medical equipment were packed too tightly together to squeeze through so I had to find a way around. I went carefully, but as quickly as I could. Who knew when Sarden would be back? I wanted to be long gone by the time he got to my room and found I had done a disappearing act. Always, I kept my eyes trained on the pale golden rectangle of daylight outlining the door at the back.

  Keep it up, Zoe—you can do it! You’re almost there, I told myself. Daylight and freedom are on the other side of that door. I hoped, anyway.

  Finally, after what seemed like hours of fumbling through the darkness, I got to the end of the vast room and found myself standing in front of the door outlined in golden light.

  Only it wasn’t a door.

  When I stepped forward and waved the manacles at it, instead of whooshing open, the entire rectangle lit up. Rather than a door, I saw a tall tank, not unlike the vertical bathtubs in the bathrooms. The whole thing glowed with the pale, golden light I’d thought was sunlight and it was filled with some kind of clear yellow liquid.

  The top part of the tank was empty, with just a few lazy bubbles rising to the surface. The bottom, however, had a layer of some kind of shiny black sludge.

  “Great. Just great,” I said aloud, putting my hands on my hips so the manacles clanked. “Not a door at all.”

  At the sound of my voice—or maybe it was the clinking of the manacles, I don’t know—the sludge at the bottom of the tank stirred. It had collected mostly in one corner and it billowed lazily in an invisible current, looking almost like a piece of black cloth. Or maybe…a tentacle?

  I frowned, whatever it was, it wasn’t a door, which meant I had to keep searching. Damn it! My heart sank all the way down to my shoes—or would have if I’d been wearing any. Actually, my bare feet felt like ice from walking on the cold metal floor. Well, I could see the back wall by the deceptive yellowish glow of the tank. Maybe the best thing would be to go to it and start making my way around the perimeter of the room, feeling for an exit as I went.

  Something stirred in the tank again—another faint billowing motion—and I felt something wet and warm touch my wounded cheek.

  What the hell?

  I jerked back involuntarily—it was almost as though someone with a very wet, cold mouth had just given me a sloppy kiss. I put my fingers to my face and they came away wet. But when I examined my fingertips in the faint glow of the manacles, all I saw was blood—the dripping must have been what caused the weird feeling on m