Earthbound (The Reach, Book 1) (40 page)

Preston led the two of them up the stone staircase and proceeded to present them to the guests there.  They were vapid socialites, every last one of them, people whose conversations revolved around only two topics: fashions in the north precinct and who was cheating on who in their circle of acquaintances.  Knile kept a plastic smile on his face as the discussion rolled on, nodding and making the right noises when required, and Ursie looked on with a kind of dumbstruck curiosity, as if she were observing an alien species for the first time.

One of the women gravitated over toward Knile and offered him an impish little grin as she ran her finger suggestively around the rim of her cocktail glass.

“Hey,
stranger, what’s your name?” she said.  She wore far too much blush on her cheeks, and the glittering purple eye shadow and matching lipstick that she had applied seemed to Knile like desperate cries for attention more than anything else.

“I’m Remington,” he said.

“Glenda.”  Her smile broadened and she sidled closer, bending on an angle that offered the greatest view of her ample cleavage.  “So, is it just you and your daughter?”

Wow.  This one isn’t wasting any time
, Knile thought, picking up immediately on the implications of the question – that he was available.

“Yes,” Knile said, injecting false sorrow into his voice.  “My wife passed some time ago.  The toxins,” he added in a whisper.

“Oh, a shame,” Glenda sympathised, but her smile never skipped a beat.

“Yes, we’ve come to Lux to seek refuge and to find our feet again.”

“And to party,” Glenda said mischievously.

Knile shrugged, not wanting to appear overeager.

“I’m sure there will be time to–”

“Oh come on,” Glenda said animatedly.  “What other point is there to be in Lux?  We come for the party, and when we’ve had our fill, we head up the Wire and onto our next adventure.”

“As easy as that, huh?” Knile said.  He knew that his facade of civility had slipped a little, but at that moment he couldn’t help it.  The loathing he felt toward these people was intense.  He hated their superficial and egocentric attitudes, their hedonism and their pettiness.  To think there was such suffering and loss, such struggle below their very feet was galling.

This was the real reason he couldn’t live in Lux.  These people, this lifestyle.  He hadn’t wanted to explain all of this to Ursie, but the reality was that he despised this place.  To live here would be even worse than living in Gaslight or Link as far as he was concerned.

Knile’s fists clenched at his side as he struggled to bring his emotions under control.

“Sure, baby, easy as that,” Glenda said.  “We can do whatever we want here.”  She lifted her fingers from the rim of the glass and licked the moisture from her fingertips.  “I’d love to show you around,” she said, staring up at him with sultry eyes.

Knile gave her a thin smile and surreptitiously checked his wristwatch.  It was past noon.

Less than seven hours left.

He desperately wanted to be out of this room, out of this mansion.  Out of Lux.  He wanted to leave these people behind, not only to get back on schedule, but also to be rid of the glitter of gold jewellery, the cloying stink of perfume and the plastic people who wore them.

But he didn’t want to make a scene.  If he barged his way through Lux it would attract attention, and that might be all Wilt needed to zero in on him again.

Glenda was still awaiting his response when they were interrupted.

“Glenda, I see you’ve met Remington,” Preston said, worming his way between them and linking his arm companionably through Knile’s.  “You’re not allowed to hog him all to yourself though, dear.”

Preston began to lead Knile away and Glenda glared at them, pouting and rubbing her finger on the rim of the glass again.

“That one’s a man-eater, dear.  Watch out for her,” Preston said.

“Yes, I noticed.  She’s already begun to sink her teeth in.”

Preston tittered girlishly and downed the last of his cocktail with a flick of his head.

“Oh, I like you already, Remington.”  He placed the glass down on a table and then gestured to an old man with white hair seated nearby on a sofa.  “Now let me allow you to introduce you to someone else.”

The old man looked up as t
hey approached.  He wore a navy-blue suit with neat little bow tie, and there was a white silk handkerchief in his breast pocket.  He smiled up at the two of them, and Knile thought there was a certain kindliness about his visage that was not present in the other guests at the party.

“Remington,” Preston said, “allow me to introduce Hoyer Honeybul.”

Knile shook the old man’s hand.

“A pleasure,” Honeybul said.

Knile frowned, vaguely recalling hearing the name before.  Honeybul released his hand and eased back into the sofa again, and it was only then that Knile saw the young boy sitting next to Honeybul in a dark blue uniform.  Suddenly he twigged to where he had heard the name before.

“Mr. Honeybul,” Knile said in wonder.  “You’re the Candidate guy.  The guy who takes unfortunate children under his wing.”

Honeybul straightened his jacket and his smile widened, pleased at being recognised.

“Why, yes.  You’ve heard of me.”

“Your reputation precedes you, dear,” Preston said.  “Mr. Honeybul is a saint,” he gushed.  “He provides a simply wonderful service.”

“Where is it you heard of me, Mr. Remington?” Honeybul enquired politely.

“I heard your name mentioned around the place,” Knile said, purposefully vague.  “There’s lots of talk about it.  Excited chatter.  I must say that the things people were saying certainly got my attention.”

“Would you like to get involved in the program?” Honeybul said.  “I’m always on the lookout for new benefactors.  We can sign you up when
ever you like.”

Knile looked at him uncertainly.  “Well, I–”

“Of course he wants to get involved,” Preston said.  “It’s truly amazing.”  He gripped Knile by the arm again and began to lead him away.  “Excuse us, dear Honeybul.  We shall return soon.”

Honeybul saluted them with a smile and a curt motion of his hand.  Ursie stared after Knile, uncertain, but he gave her a little nod to signify that everything was all right.  She turned back to the man and woman who had been talking to her and attempted to laugh at some joke they were sharing, still looking as uneasy as the moment she had first walked in the door.

“The donations for the Candidate program really are quite modest,” Preston was saying.  “Very affordable for someone such as yourself.  One swipe of your cred chip and you’ll be on your way.”

“As it happens, I’m still sorting out my finances after the move,” Knile said.  “Now might not be the best time for me to start making commitments–”

“Rubbish, dear,” Preston snorted.  “If you can afford an apartment over on Gilt, you can afford this.”

Goddammit.  Think your way out of this, Knile.  If he sees there’s practically no creds on your chip, the game is up.

Preston led him up another staircase and the crowd began to thin out.  They entered a carpeted area and proceeded down a long hallway, into a more secluded area of the mansion.

“My cred chip,” Knile exclaimed.  “Damn, I think I left it in my luggage.”

“Ha!” Preston exclaimed, pointing down at Knile’s hand.  “But you’re still carrying your luggage, dear.”  He paused at a carved oak door.  “You’re not going cold on me, are you, Remington?”

“I, uh–”

“You seem nervous.”  Preston’s air of conviviality faltered for the first time.

“I am,” Knile blurted.  “It’s so very important for me to make a good impression.  I’d hate to say or do the wrong thing this early in the game.”

Preston smiled again, satisfied.  “There’s really no need for nerves, Remington.  Here, let me show you,” he said, his eyes sparkling, “what your involvement in this program will mean.”

Preston opened the door and they proceeded through.  Inside was a large bedroom full of fine appointments.  A crystal decanter rested on an oak bureau and gold lamps shone on the matching bedside tables.  A huge and luxurious four-poster bed sat in the middle of the room.  There was no canopy above it.  Instead, four ornately carved posts rose up like spires in each of its corners, the dark wood glinting in the golden glow of the lamps.

Someone was lying on the bed.  Knile thought for a moment that they’d interrupted someone taking a nap, but as he stepped closer he saw that it was a young, dark-haired girl wearing the uniform of the Candidates.  She was lying face down, and the uniform had been hitched up, leaving her legs bare.  They were covered in red welts.

She jerked her head around, eyes wide with terror, and Knile saw that there was a silk handkerchief wrapped around her head as a gag.

“What–” Knile began, but then he saw that the girl’s arms and legs had been tied to the four corner posts of the bed with rope.

“So what do you think now, dear?” Preston crooned beside him.

34

“What the fuck is going on?” Knile demanded.

“Meet my latest Candidate,” Preston said casually.  “I call this one Cherry.  She took a little time to break in, actually.  Bit of a tough nut, if you know what I mean.  Since then I’ve found her to be very suitable to my needs.”  The girl’s wild eyes flicked between Knile and Preston, and she made several desperate moans as she struggled at her bonds.  “Quiet now, Cherry, or I’ll bring the whip out again,” Preston said.  The girl ceased her movements and squeezed her eyes shut.  Fresh tears began to roll down her cheeks.  Preston turned to Knile.  “See?  A little bit of training and they become very… pliable.”

“What are you doing to her?” Knile said, aghast.

Preston laughed.  “Anything I want.  That’s the power of the Candidate program, Remington.  Honeybul only selects children without families.  There’s no one to miss them when they’re gone, no one to lodge a complaint with the Enforcers.  No investigations when they never turn up again.”

Knile experienced a moment of overwhelming incredulity, that the man should be so brazen as to admit to these kinds of crimes in front of a total stranger.  Then he realised that it all made sense.  Of course Preston would think this way.  This show of power was just an extension of his insufferable ego, his belief that he was so far above the law that there was no one who could touch him, no one who could bring him to account for his actions.

These children, like the rest of the people who lived below Lux, were just another possession, another plaything to be used and sucked dry of their entertainment value and then discarded with the rest of the trash.

“So, are you in?” Preston said, moving close.  “You could go and choose one right now from Honeybul, if that’s what you wanted.”

“Is that so?” Knile grated.

“Indeed.”  Preston glanced lasciviously at the girl on the bed, who was still weeping silently, her body shuddering with silent sobs.  “Do you want a taste right now?  Do you want to put those hands of yours to good use?”

“Yeah,” Knile said.  His hand balled into a fist again, as they had done downstairs, his fingernails digging into his palms like razor blades, and this time he knew that he could not contain his fury.  He felt the pain and suffering of his own kind, those in Gaslight and Link and the slums, coalesce inside his hand like a burning hot lump of coal.  “I think my hands are ready.”

Preston gave him a self-satisfied grin, smug that he had brought another into the fold.  Then Knile’s fist lashed out and smacked him in the mouth.  Preston cried out and dropped to the floor, leaking crimson all over his pristine, steam-cleaned carpet.  Knile stood watching impassively as Preston looked up at him, stupefied.  Then the blond man drew himself up unsteadily, clutching at his mouth.  His eyes were filled with a mixture of rage and disbelief.

He opened his bloody mouth.  “What do you think you’re–”

Knile swung again, this time knocking him back so hard that he fell against one of the tall bed posts, snapping it in half.  Knile stepped over and plucked the lump of broken wood from the bed, and as Preston shrieked and lunged at him, Knile swung the post like a baseball bat, catching him under the chin and sending him sprawling on the floor.

This time he did not get up.

The girl on the bed was staring at Knile in horror, clearly unsure if this newcomer was her saviour or someone even worse than Preston.

“It’s okay,” Knile said, dropping the post on the floor.  He moved over and began to undo her bonds.  “I’m here to help you.  Just don’t make any sudden sounds or movements.  We don’t want anyone else to know what’s going on here.”

The girl just stared at him, watching as he freed each of her limbs in turn.  Then he untied the gag and she made a choking, coughing sound as she attempted to swallow.  She folded her arms and legs together and curled up into a fetal position in the centre of the bed.

“Are you okay?” Knile said, but the girl just continued to stare at him.  “Can you hear me?”

He tried to communicate with her for the best part of a minute, but making no headway, decided to try something else.  He opened a nearby wardrobe and searched through it for something that the
girl could wear, finding a long black
woolly winter coat.  He pulled it out and laid it on the bed, then eased the girl up into a sitting position.  He wrapped the coat around her shoulders and she clutched it protectively around her.