Chapter Twenty-Three
**
Gwen’s sitting at her desk, eyes blank, reviewing the latest data on the Samothracians. The first true negotiation session is just a few minutes away; I nervously pace, near the porthole, looking out over the cold, black and white landscape of Titan. I walk quietly, trying not to disturb Muhmis as she prepares. The last few months have been hell as far as work goes, I think; if I hadn’t been rejuvenated, I’d be a mess by now. But I’ve been needing less sleep, and I have more energy than I used to, so things worked out well. I bet everyone back at the Household and the Draka capital on my Earth, BLIBBIT, is catching up on lost sleep.
I walk over to the mahogany desk Gwen’s sitting at; her usual leopard-like ease seems tense today. I stroke a hand across the back of her neck, under the heavy braid of thick, dark red hair, and feel the rock hard muscles twitch under my touch. She’s tense, I realize, and I need to get her more relaxed before the session begins. There’s one tried and true way…
Picking up one of her long-fingered hands, I slowly begin licking the tips of her fingers, then sucking each finger delicately down to the palm of her hand. Her eyes flash up at me, leaf-green, luminous, somewhat aggravated, and then she realizes from my look of concentration what I’m trying to do. Muhmis sits back, sighing, and strokes one hand down my face, lingering at my mouth. I smile lecherously, and continue doing what I’m doing. I know from years of experience, this is one thing that always turns her on a great deal, and that’s what she needs right now…
"Ah…" A deep sigh, and she stands, pulling me close for a long, deep kiss. I press against her, letting my hands roam enticingly; she shudders slightly and smiles, a purr building in her chest. "You little vixen… we don’t really… mmmhhh… have time… enough for… ahhh…"
"Oh, yes, Muhmis, we have time enough to relax you. I checked." I kiss along the line of her throat, feeling her pulse, rapid anyway, speed up under my mouth.
"Mhh… well, then… by all means…" Gwen chuckles, and begins to unfasten her formal blacks. They fall to the floor in a heap, neither of us paying much attention to clothes anymore. "Mmmhhh… kneel to me, Erin. Yes, like that…my pretty pony-girl."
I go to my knees, hands spreading her steel-hard thighs, stroking them delicately, precisely. Her scent invades my nose, and my mouth waters, conscious thought vanishing as lust, both chemically induced by her pheromones and psychologically induced, by my love for her, roars into my mind. My hands begin to tremble, and I’m glad I’m already on my knees. She tastes so divine…
A few minutes later, Gwen gasps, and I hear something that sounds like wood cracking. I don’t pay much attention, trying to be as pleasant as possible for her; the long thighs tensing next to my head, and one of her hands stroking through my hair serve to keep me on task for the moment. I hear her low growl of excitement turn into a brief, ear-bruising hawk-shriek of pleasure, and then she’s pulling me up onto my feet, into her arms.
She shakes her other hand loose from the arm of the chair she was gripping in her passion, and wood patters to the floor, the mahogany shattered in her clutch. I giggle, and whisper, "Glad that wasn’t me!"
"Never you, darlin’… I’m careful…" Gwen whispers back, and then kisses me, hard. "That was lovely… just what I needed…"
"Archon Ingolfsson?" A black-uniformed young Draka enters the quarters, bearing the Archonal Staff for Earth/2. "We’re almost ready to… oh, excuse me. But it is near time to…"
"Yes, yes, Hrolf. I know. Be right there." She grins at him, and he wolf-grins right back, his face flushing red under white-blonde hair as he scents, and sees, what’s been happening. "Erin, fetch a towel, quickly, sweet wench."
I hurry off to the head, bringing back a damp towel and a dry one, and a new set of formal blacks for Gwen to wear. The others have to be a bit mussed by now, I think. I think I was kneeling on them. Oops. I swiftly kneel back down in front of Gwen, and gently clean her up. She purrs slightly as I do so, and they continue their conversation.
"I received your files this morning, Archon; very complete. I was quite impressed. That’s a lot of information compressed into a small space. Your staff did well."
"Yes, I’m proud of them. Erin, here, is their coordinator, my Prime Councilor. She’s very helpful in a number of ways." Gwen grins down at me, smoothing my hair with one of her hands. "I enjoy her a great deal."
"Yes, indeed. Perhaps…" The young Draka pauses, apparently checking my transducer codes. "Well, perhaps not… although she is a fine specimen of human. Have any others like her, Archon Ingolfsson? I’d like to try one out sometime."
"She’s off limits, as I think you noticed just now, but there are plenty of others. I’ll have a catalog made up, and you can pick and choose at your leisure. How’s that?" Gwen moves her legs for me, and I finish toweling her dry.
"Here, Muhmis, a new uniform. That one’s a bit…wrinkled. Sorry."
"No problem, sweet." She steps into the pants, and I slide her hand-tooled, soft leather boots on. Shrugging into the tunic, she gestures for me to stand.
You’re welcome, I send to her.
Her head snaps around, eyes full of amusement. THANK YOU, DEAR! blasts into my head, and I stagger slightly. Hrolf looks oddly at me, probably wondering why I’m shaking my head…
"I think we’re more than ready for this session, Hrolf. Don’t you?"
He smiles again. "Yes. The plans are ready; we just have to put up with some Samothracian nonsense for a bit…"
"I think our team will be interesting to them. Don’t you think so, Erin?" Gwen turns her green gaze back to me, and strokes my face. My head’s still ringing, but I manage to nod. What’s she… oh. Oh, yeah. Oh, boy. The Damn Sams, as Tom’s knicknamed them, don’t know who’s waiting for them…
"Ready, Archon?" Hrolf Venders nods toward the door, and Gwen nods.
"Let’s go hunting, shall we?" Muhmis starts to walk out the door, turns around abruptly, and kisses me. In my head, I hear her say: And I promise payback for that relaxation session will be most impressive, indeed, darlin’… come along when you’re ready, and sit by my chair.
"Yes, Muhmis." I bow, blushing, and Hrolf smiles fondly at me as they both walk out into the corridor.
"Really, quite a nice little human you’ve got there, Elder. You’ll have to show me that catalog," he says, just as the door shuts. That’s right, he’s something like Myfwany Venders’ great-great-grandson, I think. Sort of related to Muhmis…
I pick up the towels and her mussed uniform, and drop them in the recycler. I quickly strip, and drop my clothes in there, too, before getting into the shower for a few moments of privacy. Leaning against the shower stall, letting the hot water spray over me, I take a deep breath and… scream. Scream until I can’t breathe anymore. No one can hear me; if Security notices, Gwen’ll ask me about it. I think she understands. I hope she does.
We’re reduced to catalogs, now, the tiny voice in my head whispers. Catalogs. I wonder if they have video clips, or just pictures. Ratings as to how good each pet human is in bed, perhaps? I wonder how well rated you are, my dear?
My throat’s sore from the scream and I sit down on the floor of the shower for a minute or two. I can keep that little snide voice under control most of the time, it’s just some of the time it bothers me. A lot. I’ve done my best, I think to myself, I’ve tried to preserve our rights as much as I can… I’m doing all I can, damn it. I can’t do any more. And the blow-job just now wasn’t merely part of my job description, no matter what you think, you little weasle voice. I meant to make her happy…
Oh, yes, you’re soooo good at making your owner happy, she’s so proud of you. What a good slave you’ve made…
Shut up. Shut up, damn you. Hell, I get an unlimited lifespan, and I get stuck listening to you? A hell of a lot of good you do me, damn it. Try something constructive…
Well, you could get the belt from your darling Muhmis’ uniform, tie it over the shower head, and jump off the side of the stall; it should work, after a fashion. Is that constructive enough for you?
More like a bit too constrictive. I chose life, and nothing you can say will ever make me take it back. Too, if I did something stupid like that, my transducer would alert Gwen, and they’d revive me, and then I wouldn’t be able to sit for a month or so. No thanks. Not for me. I’ll deal with life, no matter how shitty you, dear voice, make it sound.
I find myself thinking about what I’m thinking about, and start to chuckle. If Peter could see me now… sitting in the bottom of a shower stall, on Titan, argueing with myself, he’d say something like: "Miss Thang, you’re getting all wrinkly! Get out of that water, immediately, and do something nice with your hair, for god’s sake…"
Grinning like a possum, I finish the shower and get dressed, wondering what the first few moments in the negotiation chamber were like. I’ll have to get a download from Gwen, I think. I truly want to see the Samos’ faces when they see Yolande Ingolfsson sitting across from them…
**
Gwen and Yolande come in, talking quietly. I look up briefly from the work I’m doing, and smile. The two Draka nod and amble over to the table in the generous guest quarters; I bend back to what I’ve been doing until Muhmis’ voice makes me look up again.
"Erin? Come over here."
I sigh, ever so slightly, and put down my stylus. "Yes, Muhmis."
"That’s what I was talking about, Gwendolyn. That little bit of hesitation. We’d never have tolerated that much, in my generation." Yolande reclines at her ease, looking me over with those spooky grey eyes. The aroma of their coffee wafts over to me as I approach and stand, head down, hands held in front of me.
"Yes, but I like a little spice in my serfs. If you rip that out, you usually don’t end up with much, it’s been my experience. And your generation was human versus human, which put entirely a different set of stressors on the relationships. We’re luckier, in that way, now."
Gwen turns to look up at me, her eyes growing more serious. "I had an interesting report from security earlier today. Why were you so upset, younglin’?"
Oh, the shower. Damn, I was hoping no one’d notice. I sigh, softly. "I was… it was… nothing, Muhmis. Just something I had to let out. Stress, I guess."
Her hand flashes out and grabs my chin, raising my head up so our eyes meet. "I expect better than that from you, wench." Muhmis’ voice is cool now, and the hairs start to stand up on my neck and along my arms.
"Uh, well… Muhmis…"
"Tell me why you were screaming in the shower. Now."
I shift from one leg to the other, my head held immobile in her iron-like grip. She squeezes, ever so lightly, and I wince. "Please, Muhmis… it really was just stress. That’s all."
"What set it off?"
I look her full in the face. "The catalog comment." After a moment’s hesitation: "Muhmis."
"Hmm?" Yolande says, arching an eyebrow.
"Oh, she’s referring to a comment Hrolf Venders made earlier today, before the first negotiation session. He was hoping he could borrow Erin, here, but she’s mine, and mine alone. I said I could put together a catalog of some of the other wenches and pretty-bucks I have, on my Landholding, for his amusement."
"Oh. Why did that upset you, wench?" Yolande looks me up and down, rather coldly. I shiver.
"P-p-please… I, uh…" Gwen gives my chin a warning jerk, and my eyes begin to fill with tears. "It just makes it seem like we’re things, not people, the catalog thing does, I mean, Uhmis Ingolfsson."
The two Draka laugh, short wolf-like barks, and finally Yolande says, "You’re serfs. Period."
"But I’m still a person." My audacity surprises even me, and I hold my breath, waiting for the punishment for insolence I’m sure will follow. Shut up, girl, while you’re still standing, I say silently to myself, preparing for a spanking or something.
Yolande snorts. "A serf."
"You’re my saafn, wench. You’re my property. I own a couple of thousand of you humans personally, and I’m planetary Archon, so over several billion of you are my property as head of state. Or do you want to debate that?" Gwen’s voice is hard, harder than I can remember it being for years. Her eyes have gone from luminous leaf green to cold, clear green slate, and my mouth goes dry as the Sahara.
"N-n-no, Muhmis. I meant no disrespect, honest." My knees are trembling, and my stomach is acting like I’m learning how to deal with zero-g for the first time all over again. Oh, jeezie petes, idiot, you’ve annoyed her. Damn.
"How long have you been my serf?"
"Seventee--, no, eighteen years, Muhmis."
"How long will you be my serf?"
I swallow drily, trying to get past the painful lump that’s in my throat now. Tears begin to trickle out of the corners of my eyes, and I curse myself. Damn weepy-eyed squid, get ahold of yourself. Bean-head. I finally manage to whisper, "All the years of my life, Muhmis."
Gwen pulls me down, the strength in her hand and arm yanking me inexoriably down to my knees. She tilts my head back, and smiles, a cold, predatory look crossing her face. "All the years of your life, human wench. All of them. Don’t make me remind you again anytime soon."
I try to nod, but can’t move my chin in her grip. "Yes, Muhmis, I’m sorry…" My voice shakes and my stomach is seriously considering leaping fully out of my mouth and dying on the carpet. That would be unfortunate, I think, as the hatchway opens and two servus wheel in the lunch cart. They freeze, seeing the tableau, but Yolande waves them forward.
Muhmis sighs and lets go of my head. "Sit." I sit.
The servus nervously set out their lunches, and one bobs her head by Gwen’s place. "Would the Overlord want a meal for her serf?"
Gwen turns to me and smiles, gently. The cold is still in her eyes, though, which makes me realize how much I’ve annoyed her. She usually bounces right back from these things, I think, but maybe with her sort-of mother here, things are different? "Hungry, wench?"
"No, Muhmis."
"Fine." Gwen turns back to the serving wench, and waves her and her companion out. "That’s all we’ll need, thank you."
"You have made some significant advances food-wise, daughter-mine. Remember those awful, truly hideous reconstituted meals in the early days?" Yolande cuts her steak and inhales. "This is simply lovely."
"Great Wotan’s Balls, I remember. We used to toss an auric to see who got first dibs on the food dispenser; on the Lionheart, if you got one of the first couple of meals, it wasn’t so bad, but even those… you couldn’t call them food. Fuel, perhaps, but not food." Gwen chuckles and slices off a piece of chicken dijon. Handing it to me between her fingers, she waits for me to take it.
I lean forward on my knees and take the piece of meat from my Muhmis’ hand, chewing slowly. Despite my stomach’s churnings, the chicken tastes quite good. "More, Erin?"
"No, thank you, Muhmis."
"Suit yourself." Gwen turns back to her conversation with Yolande. "You know, I wondered my first long flight out why you sent along that little care package I found in my quarters. But now I know."
"Oh, yes… I remember pulling strings to get that aboard. Some candy, some venison jerky, and some gum. I knew you’d want it eventually. Was I being too doting a mother?"
"No, not at all. I really did end up living off it, and less off the so-called rations." Gwen laughs, a husky, deep-throated sound that usually sends shivers of delight down my spine. It does today, too, but not as much as it usually does. I’m still too upset.
"Ah… Myfwany always had a sweet tooth, so I thought maybe you would, too. Gods… yes, I remember, some of the odd cravings I’d get on cruises. I never told anyone about them, either. One trip, I ended up wanting dill pickles. I ate a whole jar of them when I got back to Claestum, too. Another time it was peanuts. Odd, really. But the body does odd things when you’re out for a long run."
"Yes. Erin, here, doesn’t know how lucky she is, with these sorts of rations. Do you?" Muhmis hands me a piping-hot cherry from her turnover, and I move it around in my mouth for a moment, trying not to burn my tongue.
"No, Muhmis. Thank you." I manage to swallow the cherry, and sternly tell my stomach it better get ship-shape but fast, or else. I also remember the Navy rations at the training center, but I don’t bring that up. They don’t sound as bad as what these two Overlords are talking about, anyway. Even if we never did identify the meat they served on Tuesdays. The largest vote was for road-kill possum, but I thought that was being too kind. I always voted for armadillo, myself.
"Erin, clear off these trays, and straighten your uniform up, and we’ll be ready to go back for another round of negotiations, hmm?" Gwen sits back in her chair, sipping her coffee. Yolande watches me clear the table, and I pause before taking her tray.
"Uhmis Ingolfsson, are you ready for me to take this away?"
"Yes."
I take the trays to the recycler and toss them in. Draka don’t leave much in the way of table scraps, I think. About the only thing left to recycle are the trays themselves. Amazing. I’m surprised they don’t just eat those, too. I step into the head and wash my hands. Looking up into the mirror hanging on the bulkhead, I’m sort of shocked to see how pale I am. Get a grip, girl. If only she didn’t have to be so damn definite on me being a serf forever, I think. God.
Gwen peers in, tying her hair back in a utilitarian club of thick, dark-red braids as she does so. "Are you getting any calmer?"
"I’m trying, Gw--Muhmis…" I say, quietly, and feel her hands cover mine as they grip the plasticrete of the sink. "Really, I am…"
"I know, but I need you to be, well, more presentable than you are right now. You’re upset, and I wish we had time to talk things out, but we don’t. Not right now." Her voice is soothing, and I lean back against her, wishing for just a backrub or something.
"Here, sweet," Yolande says, leaning round the hatchway, a spray-injector in her hand.
"What??" I try to jerk away from Gwen, but her arms hold me immobile.
"Ssssaaaa, Erin… no, please don’t struggle, this is just a small dose of dociline. It matters how you are, emotionally, right now--even a Samothracian could tell you’re upset. And because you’re mine, your appearance and countenance count. Hold still, my pretty-girl… come on, now…" Gwen takes one arm from around me and begins to put the spray-injector next to my neck.
"Nnnnnnnhhhhh!" I twist and shudder in her grasp, trying to slide down and out from her arms. I hear her snarl in frustration, and then Yolande’s holding me still. Her eyes bore into mine, and pure fear jolts through me. "Please, please, Gwen, no, no…. no…"
A subtle hiss, a sting, and then, just like that, I’m calm. Looking out of eyes that don’t really feel like mine, looking calmly into Yolande Ingolfsson’s eyes, feeling both her and Gwen loosening their hold on me. "Please?" I sigh. The anger and fear seem to have magically drained out of me, and the color’s coming back to my face, but inside, there’s a pang of sadness, of grief. Of outrage, maybe, buried deep inside where no one can find it. No one can find me there, either. Ever.
"There. That’s done. Not worth all that trouble, now was it?" Gwen whispers into my ear, and then kisses me softly. Yolande finally lets go of my arms, and chuckles.
"You give her too many kisses and not enough of the other end of the spectrum, woman."
"This is just as enjoyable, though, and usually easier." Gwen grins at the other Draka, and lets me go. I sag against her for a minute and then stand, brushing my hair out of my eyes slowly. "Too, if you strip them of all their beliefs, they’re usually less useful. And I like mine, like I said, with a bit of spice to them. You’ll get used to that, too, in time, Yolande."
"I guess so," the other woman answers, sounding doubtful. "It’ll be interesting, anyhow. We better get going, if we don’t want to be late. Is she going to be calm enough now?"
"Yes, I think so. Right, Erin?" Gwen caresses a finger down my cheek, and I smile at her.
"Of course, Muhmis. I’m sorry for the hissy fit."
"Don’t be. We’ll talk more about all that later. You’re not in trouble, though, so don’t worry. Let’s go catch the shuttle floater down to the meeting room, my wench."
We leave the cabin and sure enough the shuttle floater is waiting for us. I hop on board after Muhmis and Uhmis Ingolfsson, and take my place at the back of the floater. The quarters fly by, then the labs, and the huge shuttle bays. We stop several times to pick up or let off workers and other Draka. We come to one intersection where there’s a small group of Samothracian delegates waiting, and the floater obediently stops.
There’s an awkward pause, and no one moves for a second or two. The floater makes its little inquiring "bing" noise and waits, aware in its mechanical fashion that there are people waiting to ride but no one’s getting on or off. One of the Samothracians, an older man dressed in gray, clears his throat. "Perhaps we should wait for another?"
"No reason to. Plenty of room on board, and we are at truce. Climb aboard." Gwen gestures, and reluctantly the little group of Samos does so. The floater happily "bings" once again, and smoothly picks up speed. The negotiation chambers approach, flanked on one side by a Draka honor guard, clad in reflective memet body armor, and on the other side by some Samothracian Shock Troops. I don’t like the looks the two sets of soldiers are throwing at each other, or the way the Samos look at me and the two or three other human serfs on the floater, but oh, well, I think, we are at truce, and Muhmis is here to protect me. Everything’s fine.
I feel someone nudge my knee and look down. I see a hand, and then follow it up to Emily’s face. The pretty young Samothracian grins, and then her eyes widen in alarm. She holds her communicator out so I can see the display. It reads:
Are you okay? You seem sort of spacey.
I nod.
What’s wrong? Have they drugged you, Erin? High Lord Above…
I nod, and smile.
Oh, Jesus and his saints. Is there anything I can do?
I shake my head no, and gently, slowly, press her hand once, then again. The floater sighs to a stop in front of the rooms, and the Draka dismount, first waving the Samothracians on in front of them. Gwen pauses, and reaches up for my hand as I step down.
Had a nice little conversation with your friend Emily?
Yes, Muhmis. I think Patrick would like her, don’t you?
A chuckle resonates inside my head. Already trying to play matchmaker, are you? She would make a pretty little pony to ride, though. Have to keep that in mind… come on, sweetlin’, let’s go play the game of negotiation again.
She leads me inside and I take my place behind her chair, slightly to her right, as the other delegates, Yolande Ingolfsson included, file in and find their spots. Emily sits toward the back of the room, a small frown on her face. I spot her mother walking rapidly away from her, her face set in anger. I guess Emily just got another lecture about consorting with the unclean, I think, and then Gwen’s requesting some document reviews from me via transducer, and its trance takes me over. I don’t really notice the discussion that ensues, although I know from experience I can play it back later.
The documents come up; I review them quickly, adding annotations and some links to other papers and treaties that I think might be helpful, and send them immediately to Gwen. She thanks me as she converses vocally with the others in the room and silently with other Draka, her sort-of mother included.
There’s a funny sort of itching feeling, suddenly, in my head, like my brain has poison ivy. I wince, rubbing my forehead, and then the feeling wells into a huge pain. Icy but burning at the same time, my head throbs like it’s about to split wide open. I gasp, softly, and lean forward. One of Gwen’s aides nods toward me, and I see Gwen turning to face me, her eyes widening in surprise and shock. Her lips move, but I can’t hear what she’s saying; my vision turns red, then black, and I have a sensation of falling down a long, dark tunnel… oh, but Alice, I wasn’t chasing the rabbit, though, I think, just before everything fogs into blackness.
**