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  “You know of another one?” the prostie asked dryly. “Man’s a fuckin’ institution, even more than me and Mike were.”

  “You got that right,” Holt murmured, shaking his head. “So you mind raped the Phoebe colonists to sell to Van Heusen who, I suppose, has set up shop somewhere here on Iapetus. Probably on the dark side since nobody in their right mind would go there…” He mused silently for a moment, leaning back in his chair. “So how’d you end up here?” he asked at last.

  “Fuckin’ Mike,” the prostie snarled morosely, the high, musical voice sounding bitter. “Decided he wanted it all. Waited ‘till I was sleepin’, I guess, and mind raped me just like those damn sheep on Phoebe. When I woke up I looked like this and there was a line of miners out the door of this place waitin’ for their turn. Miners are horny fucks,” she said sourly. “Have ta stay back here with the Goddess-damned daemon to keep ’em off me.”

  The prostie took another drink out of the bottle and slammed it back on the table. “Guess you’ll say I’m getting’ some of my own back,” she said, staring defiantly up into Holt’s stony face. “And maybe I am, but I don’t give a shit. I just know that I’m gonna kill that bastard Red Mike when I find ’im. And believe me, I’ll find ’im.”

  “Well, you don’t appear to be searching too hard at the moment,” Holt pointed out. He was slouched comfortably in his chair, one hand tucked out of sight inside his jacket, seemingly completely unaware of the growing darkness behind him. Because, Sadie saw with a start, it was growing.

  When they had first come down the long hall, the room had been divided straight down the center, equal halves of light and dark like a surreal yin–yang. Now she saw that while she had been engrossed with the prostie’s confession, the darkness had steadily but surely begun to creep, encroaching on the half-circle of brilliance, nibbling away at the light. When Holt had sat down at the table, the daemon was a good three feet behind him. Suddenly, the distance was less than two feet and shrinking rapidly.

  Sadie wanted to scream a warning, wanted to shout his name but it was as though a cold hand was gripping her throat, freezing her vocal chords with black ice. The red eyes flashed malevolently at her from the growing darkness and she knew it was the daemon somehow keeping her from making a sound.

  “Oh, I’ll find ’im,” the blond prostie assured Holt with a sneer. “See, I made a deal. I gotta friend who’s gonna help.”

  “The only help you’re going to get is a one-way ticket to a federal prison, Xavier.” Holt drew his hand from beneath his jacket and Sadie saw that he was holding a pair of silver restraints and his badge. “You’re under arrest. But first you’re going to tell me exactly where Van Heusen’s keeping the illegal tanks.”

  The prostie grinned nastily. “That’s what you think, bub. Knew you had to be some kinda cop. You’re the first guy who’s come back here that didn’t try to grab me.”

  “You’re not my type,” Holt said dryly. The darkness was only inches behind him now, the glowing crimson eyes longing to devour. Sadie tried to move but her entire body was frozen. She realized in horror that she was going to watch Holt die without being able to do anything about it.

  “You’re not mine either.” The prostie laughed, an evil tinkling sound like fairy music played off-key. “But I know somebody who’d like you just fine.” She leaned forward suddenly, moving much more quickly than anyone who’d drunk nearly a fifth of Flare juice should have been able. Planting her delicate, flowerlike hands against Holt’s broad chest she gave a tremendous shove, tilting his chair and pitching him backward into the waiting blackness.

  When the daemon’s attention shifted entirely to the blond detective, Sadie suddenly found she was free. Without hesitating an instant or considering how suicidal her action was, she lunged forward into the room, crossing the line from light to darkness almost instantly, screaming Holt’s name.

  11

  Blakely whistled as he left the private office of Sheila Blex, madam of the biggest mixed-bag brothel on Iapetus and one of his and Holt’s best informants. When they had first met Sweet Sheila, she was simply another working girl on the streets of New Brooklyn, Blakely’s old stomping grounds. She had given them sound information more than once, mainly, Blakely figured, because she had a huge crush on his blond partner. Sheila had told them time and again that her intention was to get to the Outer Rings and make her fortune and damned if she hadn’t done it despite the fact that Blakely and Holt had both tried to warn her off.

  Blakely grinned to himself as he looked around the plush interior of the whore house, taking in the choices available to the well-heeled miners eager to spend their credit for a night of companionship. The room was decorated in shades of crimson and black and there was a wide selection of humans and prosties both male and female lolling on the many plush couches in the waiting area. Luscious, ripe flesh was on display everywhere. Firm, naked breasts topped with pouting nipples, silky thighs, and hot, wet pussies surrounded him. There were also plenty of thick cocks if that was your cup of joe, and from a gilt-edged crate in the corner a forlorn “baa” could be heard. Blakely shook his head; no taste too perverse indeed.

  A pheromone blower at the door ensured that every man who walked in was instantly horny, as Blakely could attest because his own cock had been stiff from the moment he’d come through the door.

  “See anything you like?” The voice purring in his ear made him turn around to see Sheila standing right behind him, her curvy hips cocked in a sexy pose. “You forgot these.” She thrust a bundle at him.

  “Oh, thanks. Guess I was a little distracted.” He glanced around the room again. “Hey, do some guys really go for that?” He nodded at the cage in the corner where the baaing had gotten louder.

  “Millie? She’s one of our local favorites. Makes me more credit than any two prosties put together. You wanna give her a try? It’s a wild and wooly ride.” Sheila’s green eyes danced with laughter and Blakely shivered and shook his head.

  “No thanks, Sheila. I’m not into barnyard porn like some of the sick bastards around here.”

  She elbowed him in the ribs. “I know that, Blake, I’m just yankin’ your chain. But maybe I could set you up with something a little more appealing.” She gestured to the couches full of lounging sex workers.

  “Thanks but no thanks, Sheila. I’ve gotta meet up with Holt. He went to The Slice without me.” Blakely felt a twinge of unease as he spoke of his partner and, unconsciously, he rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Oh yeah, I don’t know how I could have forgotten that you two are a team when it comes to sex.” Sheila grinned at him, teasingly. “You shouldn’t go making fun of poor Millie’s Johns when you and Holt are so kinky you always have to share. Listen, come on back after you pick your gorgeous blond partner up from The Slice. I’ll do you together myself for free.” She ran one blood-red beautifully manicured nail along the bulge in his pants, causing the dark-haired detective to jump guiltily.

  “Don’t think I don’t appreciate the offer, but no can do, hon.” In the past, he and Holt would have certainly taken her up on her invitation. It had been a long, lonely time since they had made love to anyone. His cock throbbed in his pants at the memory of fucking the gorgeous, curvy woman in front of him, of burying his cock to the hilt in her tight pussy while Holt rammed into her from behind and feeling the T-link widen to a river of pleasure, if only for a little while. Sheila was one of the few women able to handle the sensory overload caused by the T-link during their double penetration, although she didn’t have the correct brain chemistry to bond with them. Being a working girl and a friend, she was also one of the few women who wasn’t shocked and offended when she learned of Blakely and Holt’s unusual sexual needs.

  “Ah,” Sheila pouted prettily. “But I like being the filling in a Holt and Blakely sandwich. I can’t believe you came all the way to New Gomorrah and you don’t want to hook up.”

  Blakely could scarcely believe it either. They weren’t o