Brother Death (13 page)

Now they both stood, facing each other across a meter of agitated, hostile air.

"-believe you won't even fucking consider it! I'm not your goddamned father and you aren't your mother!" he yelled.

"-you can't buy fucking everything, rich man, I'm not for fucking sale and I won't fucking do it-!"

And all of a moment he shut up and she shut up and she felt such a surge of pure lust bubble up in her that her breath stuck. She couldn't even breathe she wanted him so bad! But he wouldn't, they'd gone down that goddamned road too many times, too, she knew every centimeter of it

"I-oh, shit!" he said. "Oh, shit."

She stared at him, hearing something she hadn't expected in his voice. Something she'd hoped for, but didn't really think would happen.

He sighed and practically leaped at her, arms stretched wide.

Yes!

Her reactions were good. She met him halfway.

He found her mouth with his, thrust his tongue between her lips. She chewed on it, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough for him to feel it.

He tore at her clothes, she at his. The golden silk of his shirt ripped next to the cro-tab, the cloth parting under her fingers as she slid her hands over his chest, around his back.

They dropped to their knees and she fell backward so he could peel her orthoskin pants off. With the pants still tangled around one boot, he bent and licked her clitoris; nibbled, all lips, and she screamed with the intensity of the sensation. The room seemed filled with flying clothes, panicked moths seeking to flee from a suddenly too-hot fire. Oh, god, she couldn't get enough of him in her arms, she kept urging him to her, moving her hands up and down, feeling, massaging, her voice matching her hands in a soft croon: "Yes, yes, there, oh, yes, that, oh, oh, yes-!"

When he moved to untab her boot, she grabbed his erect penis and pulled it into her mouth, making wet noises as she slid her lips almost to his base. He vibrated like an off-center machine trying to balance on an unstable base.

"Oh, fuck!" It was more a moan than anything.

You got that right.

"I won't last," he said. "Come here."

They twisted, turned, she felt the rough patterned leather scratch her buttocks as she moved and opened wide to receive him. He fumbled, missed, and she caught him and guided him into her. Wet? Any slicker and he would have slid right past her and onto the floor.

He thrust, sank to his limit, pulled back and began pumping with a frantic, urgent drive. He was close-

"Oh, god!" he said, as his climax wracked him.

Taz smiled over his shoulder as she hugged him to her, wrapped her legs across his back, her heels pressed to his sides That was quick. How long had it been for him? She could reach her orgasm later, he was very good about that, but it wasn't necessary just now. In this moment, she was fulfilled, holding him like a lover, feeling as tender as if he were a child.

"Oh, Tazzi. I love you."

"I know," she said. "I know. It's okay."

But even in her triumph, she felt a sliver of guilt stick a sharp point into her soul, a bit of shame running down and staining the window of brightness there. She had won. But she had also cheated. The victory that should have been as solid and hard as steel rang hollow. She had seduced him and gotten what she wanted, but nothing had really changed, had it? When the morning light shined on them, he would feel ashamed at his weakness and she would feel guilty at having played to it, and it would be the same as it had been before. She knew him too well to believe otherwise.

But fuck it. That was in the morning. Might as well enjoy what the night had left in it. She kissed his neck, petted his back, and rocked him in the oldest and most wonderful of cradles, in the most ancient man-and-woman dance. Sang wordless things to him, and moved in the best of all rhythms. Felt him recharge and knew that for the moment, at least, he was hers.

Through the dwindling night the flitter carrying Kifo sped toward his temple. The driver must have been awed at what he had seen in Kifo's face, for he had not spoken to the Unique. Next to him on the seat, even the vouch seemed subdued.

Well they should be. It was not given to many to look upon a god in the making.

Kifo stroked his personal com. "Brother Mkono," he ordered the com.

The vice replied almost instantly, sharp, clear, awake even at this hour. "Yes." No question in the word, but a readiness. Mkono was the best Hand the Few had ever possessed, no doubt of it.

"We have much to discuss," Kifo said. "The gods have made themselves very clear to me this night. Our work must be doubled and redoubled."

"I am the Hand. I do what must be done."

Kifo smiled. Of course.

Chapter FOURTEEN

TAZ FELT WORSE than she'd thought she would. As she guided her flitter out through the gates of Ruul's estate, it was as if a block of lead filled her belly, a solid indigestible lump that wanted to come up but could not. It held her to her seat like a pressor field. She felt as if she were a thousand years old and sick for the last five hundred.

After two hours of lovemaking, she and Ruul had fallen into a worn-out sleep, arms and legs twined, woven together in an exhausted but highly satisfied knot. But when she'd awakened just before dawn, he was gone. He was not in the fresher, nor was he close enough so that he responded to her nervous query.

It was then the dense metal chunk started growing in her. Yes, he had weakened, given in, done what he said he would not do, and yes, there had been a spark of joy in her at making him do it. But now the morning-after price must be paid, and there was no one to pay it for her.

Taz slid from the bed and went to the fresher. Stepped into the shower, ordered it to full, and was blasted by eight spiral-rigged nozzles of hot water. The needle spray cleaned her body well and quickly enough.

Too bad it couldn't clean her conscience so easily.

She washed her hair with Ruul's special shampoo blend, took her time under the blowers until she was dry. Padded barefoot and naked to the bedroom and began collecting her clothes. She had to follow the trail back to the lizard couch to find them all. Took her time dressing, giving Ruul ample opportunity to return from wherever he had gone.

She very much wanted for him to come back.

And she was terribly afraid he would-and she would have to face him and his wrath. He would be angry with her, but more so with himself, and she didn't want to see it. Ah. Here's that term again: mixed emotions.

He wasn't in the kitchen, where she fixed herself a pan of eggs and soystrip bacon.

Wasn't in the hallway on her way to the door.

Wasn't outside anywhere near her flitter when she lifted.

Ah, damn.

The gates closed behind her and she headed for home. .

It reminded her of the old joke, about the needle-plant farmer. One day the farmer had gotten up, taken off all his clothes, and thrown himself into a thicket of the spiked plants. Impaled his naked body with thousands of tiny stinging spines. When the other farmers asked him why he'd done it, he said, "Well, it seemed appropriate at the time."

Really? they asked.

"Yeah," he said, picking a spine from his buttock and wincing, "but it doesn't seem like such a hot idea now."

Taz shook her head. Might as well go home and pick the needles out, woman. You have nobody to blame except yourself. First last and only.

The chirp of her com sent a sudden flash of terror through her. Ruul?

No. The Watch Commander. Thank all the gods.

"Good morning, Chief. We've got another com from our friend Guillotine." He pronounced the word "gill-o-teen."

"Jesu, WC, don't use that term, it's bad enough the media do it."

"Sorry, Chief. I'll drop it into your comp."

It was a measure of how bad she felt that the call from the WC reporting a potential murder was actually a relief. She'd rather deal with a killer right now than with an unhappy Ruul. Especially since she'd made him that way.

She commed Saval.

"Morning, brother. We've got work to do."

"Another threat?"

"Yep. I'll pick you up in about fifteen minutes."

Saval didn't ask about her evening. She was grateful to whichever deity was in charge of things for that, too.

As Taz drove, Bork called up the information from her flitter's computer on the latest threat.

"Says here the woman's name is Celona Jorine."

Taz nodded. "High society," she said. "About ninety T.S., plenty of money, father was Systems Governor long time back, in the Confederation high-water days. He retired twenty years before the revolution, backed the rebels with his power and money, came out smelling very nice after things settled down. Her brother took over the family fortunes, got the inside track on a lot of investments because the old man had backed the winners. When the brother died, Celona became nominal head of the foundation they established. Her grandnephew and granddaughter pretty much run things, have for years. She raises hothouse flowers, exotic blossoms and does a lot of charity work. Probably gave away five million and change last year to needy folks right here in the city. Not counting what she did elsewhere."

Bork shook his head. "Sweet little old lady?"

"Not exactly, but it still doesn't make any sense."

"No doubt the threat is legit?"

"Not much. The thing was sent anonymously, but there's a sig code on the com that matches the others.

Nobody is supposed to know the code but the com control simadams and the Supervisor. I don't even know what it is."

"Could have been leaked."

"Yeah," she said, "but I don't think so. The Supe has made the com controllers take the truth tests. The scans come up clean, shallow and deep."

"And the Supervisor . . . ?"

"Un uh. I've known him since I've been on the force. He's a good cool, clean as high-voltage vibrowire.

Bet my neck on it."

"So we consider it a real threat. Anything else I should know?"

"Can't think of anything offhand."

"You have a computer running comparisons on the victims?"

"Oh, yeah. We might not be the fastest or the brightest out here in the exhausts but we're not that stupid.

Got a big unit crunching them, looking for connections. If any of the victims even ate dinner at the same restaurant in a year, somebody is checking the place. So far, nothing solid. If it's there, we'll turn it up eventually. Slow grind, but exceedingly fine. Trick will be recognizing it when we see it.

"There's a dozen uniformed POs with M. Jorine by now, with orders to keep her in sight until we get there; even if she has to go pee somebody will be standing next to her."

Bork nodded.

"Here's where you'll have to start earning your keep, Saval."

"Why I'm here."

"We will give them time to put their hired protector into place," Kifo said.

Mkono nodded.

"Do you think it presents a problem, this matador?"

Mkono cracked a thin smile, something he rarely did. "No, Unique. The Hand of the Gods does not fear any human or mue."

"I hardly thought otherwise."

The place was a giant structure, as big as a boxcar service garage, constructed of what appeared to be carbonex tubing and clear plastic plate. Inside, it was a good ten degrees cooler than outside. The term "hothouse" was figurative. Rows and rows of flower bushes filled the building, leaving just enough room to walk between them. There must be thousands of plants, a riot of color that covered nearly all of the visible spectrum. Taz didn't know a lot about flowers, but these all looked to be roses of one variant or another. Red, pink, orange, white, yellow, blue, green, violet, even purple and black ones. Amazing.

Even though the cool on the door knew her personally, he checked Taz's ID. He kept his hand on his holstered pistol while the system ran Saval's code, too. Given Saval's ability with the spetsdods, this was a waste of the man's energy, but Taz appreciated his diligence, if not his judgment.

A second uniform led them to where M. Jorine was.

Taz had never met the woman socially, but she had seen her a few times. She was thin, looked frail and grandmotherish, with green-tinted hair worn in a short style. She'd spent a lot of time in the sun unprotected, from the tan and multitude of wrinkles showing on her face. She wore a plain silk coverall dyed to match her hair, and a pair of flexskin gloves. When Taz and Saval arrived at where she stood, the woman was digging around the roots of a rosebush with a pointed trowel. The flowers on this particular bush were the size of Saval's fist and a blue so bright as to seem almost glowing from within.

No thorns she could see.

Without seeming to look directly at them, the old woman noticed them. "Well?" Her voice was curt, snappish.

"M. Jorine, I am Assistant Chief Bork, this is Saval Bork of the matadors."

"Yes, yes." She stopped rearranging the dirt under the bush and looked up. "Hmm. You're both HG mue-stock, aren't you? Siblings?"

"Yes, ma'am," Saval said.

She looked at them as if she were considering breeding them to see what kind of flower they would produce. "Hmm. Well, Po Bork, I am not pleased with all the foomra your organization has created around here. Not pleased at all."

"We are concerned about your safety," Taz began.

"Young fem, I was taking care of my own safety before your grandmother was born. I hardly think I need your help at this late date."

It was the voice of riches speaking, the superior condescension inherited money sometimes took when dealing with the lower classes. It pissed Taz off.

"M. Jorine, I am sure that's true. On the other hand, you have been threatened by someone who has made similar threats against others and so far been able to carry them off."

The old lady smiled, sweetly, but with a hint of something hard under it. "Despite what your organization did to try and stop them, too, is this not correct? Got yourself a morgue full of headless bodies for your efforts, haven't you?"

Taz blinked. Touche, old woman.

"Kiddo, like I said, I'm nobody's backpack. I have my own resources. What makes you think you can protect me any better than my security, all of whom probably have twice as much training as your average cool?"