Mercenaries (13 page)

“You've got to admit, it makes a statement,”
Sebastian commed finally, after a two-minute gape.

“Yeah, but a statement of what?”
Nathan folded his arms and rocked back on his heels, looking the statue over with a raised brow and a grin.

“How about, ‘We've got more kinks than a corkscrew'?”
As he glanced at his captain, Sebastian caught the gaze of a hard-eyed palace guard watching them suspiciously. He was unable to resist giving the man a taunting wink. Without an implant of his own, the guard couldn't hear the conversation no matter how hard he tried to eavesdrop.

“I can't believe they put that thing out where anybody can see it.”
Trinity sounded so scandalized, Sebastian had to grin.

He wasn't surprised at her reaction, though. Trin had spent her teenage years on Orville's Paradise, a planet colonized by a rabid religious cult. Nathan had expanded her horizons considerably, but even after a year of marriage and her new life as a mercenary, she was still easy to shock.

Frowning, Trinity added out loud, “I hope they don't let children in here.”

“Children,” a stuffy male voice announced, “are not permitted in this section of the palace.”

The three pivoted to see a man striding toward them. In contrast to their own conservative blue dress uniforms, he wore a pair of tight leather pants with thigh-high black boots. Black buckled straps circled his flabby biceps, and a leather breastplate covered his chest. It was sculpted to look a lot more muscular than he was. A leather codpiece completed the ensemble, draped with gold chains that jingled musically as he walked.

“Either he's way too happy to see us,”
Sebastian quipped,
“or he stuffs that codpiece.”

“He'd have to, or he'd get calluses on his dick,”
Nathan commed.
“All that leather's got to chafe.”
Spotting Trinity's wicked smile, he added,
“And what are you grinning at?”

“Actually, I was wondering if I could get the name of his tailor,”
she purred.
“You'd look a lot better in that rig than he does.”

Sebastian bit the inside of his cheek to control a bark of laughter. Maybe Nathan had done a better job at expanding Trin's horizons than he'd thought.

Leather Man came to a jingling halt a pace in front of them, shoulders drawn back, both chins lifted. “Welcome to the Dominality of Rabican,” he announced. “I am Dom Javier Grosvenor Bayard, adviser to the Dominor—”

“Not on matters of fashion, I hope,”
Sebastian commed, keeping his face straight with an effort.

Trin made a strangled sound.
“Sebastian, if you make me laugh at this self-important clod, I'm going to spank you.”

Trin's snicker at his mock plea had Bayard peering at them in puzzlement.

Nathan, ignoring the byplay, introduced the three of them in grave, rolling phrases. Sebastian had no idea how his captain always managed to treat Bayard's ilk as if he took them seriously. Sebastian himself didn't have the patience, which was how he knew he had no business captaining a ship.

Oh, he might have the knowledge of strategy and tactics, even the necessary leadership skills, but he was just no damn good with idiots.

When Nathan finished his spiel, Bayard gave them all a short, stiff bow. “Very good. If you will accompany me, I will take you to His Dominance.” Turning on one high, booted heel, he marched off down the corridor, right past a wall-length mural of a naked woman writhing in a particularly uncomfortable arrangement of ropes.

“You know, we've been to some really strange Forgotten Worlds,”
Sebastian commed, eyeing the mural as they passed,
“but this one is headed for the top of the ‘stories-I-like-to-tell-when-I'm-drunk' list.”

“Good,”
Nathan shot back.
“You needed new material.”

“Only because you've known me twenty years,”
Sebastian replied loftily.
“Others are riveted.”

“No, dear,”
Trinity said sweetly.
“They're just appalled.”

He eyed her.
“On second thought, I think
you're
the one who needs the spanking.”

His captain turned to give him a long, long look.

“And Nathan's just the guy to give it to you,”
Sebastian added quickly.

“He's brighter than he looks,”
Nathan told his wife.

She smiled.
“He'd have to be.”

AGONIZING protocol notwithstanding, Sebastian decided as he followed the others through the palace, this should be one of their more enjoyable missions. At least, judging from the file Trin had compiled in preparation for their meeting with the Dominor.

According to her research, Bedesem Colony had been lost for a full two hundred years after being caught on the wrong side of the Tormod Front. Which pretty much explained the feudal technology. Even after being reunited with the rest of the human empire for the five years, the colonists still clung to their old ways.

In any case, two centuries was an awfully long time to be cut off from the rest of the human race—and plenty of time to develop interesting kinks. Particularly for a colony that was already pretty kinky to begin with.

When humankind began its first major colonization push after discovering the secret of interstellar travel three hundred years ago, all kinds of groups decided to try their hands at creating Utopia. There were religious cults like the ones who'd founded Orville's Paradise—bigots who hated anybody with a different skin color, language, and/or religion; neosocialists, neofascists, and assorted other neoists.

There had also been lots of people who wanted to enjoy their various sexual kinks undisturbed, including one shipload with a taste for Bondage, Discipline, and Sadomasochism—BDSM. Which acronym had morphed over the past two hundred years into the word Bedesem, as in Bedesem Colony.

According to Trin's research, thousands of people with a yen to experience full-time dominant/submissive relationships had shipped off to found this colony. Unfortunately, no sooner did they have their fantasy world up and running than war broke out with the alien Tormod, who had taken violent exception to human incursion into their space.

Nobody was entirely sure how many colonies found themselves on the wrong side of the Tormod Front, but estimates ranged anywhere from twenty to one hundred separate worlds. Millions of people, all completely cut off from the rest of humankind.

Luckily, however, the Tormod were methane breathers with no interest in human-habitable planets, or things could have gotten even uglier for the Forgotten Worlds. As it was, the Tormod only objected to alien spacecraft crossing their space; they hadn't bothered to wipe out the colonies themselves.

Two decades ago the Humans and the Tormod had finally signed a treaty. Since then, humankind had started reestablishing contact with the Forgotten Worlds. Bedesem was only the latest, having been rediscovered just five years past.

Now one of Bedesem's ruling Dominors wanted to hire the crew of the
Starrunner
for some kind of mission. The question was, what did the leader of a kinky feudal society want with a bunch of twenty-fourth century cyborg mercenaries?

And would it by any chance involve big-breasted submissives who loved to suck cock?

Sebastian hastily wiped off the grin that thought inspired as Bayard stopped before a massive set of soaring double doors. The adviser nodded regally to one of the guards standing at attention. The guard stepped forward to open the door, and Bayard sailed through to the strains of drums and flutes.

Sebastian gave the hem of his dress uniform a straightening tug and followed the others as they filed in after him.

“Captain Nathan August of the interstellar mercenary warship
Starrunner,
and two crew members,” Bayard announced with a grand gesture in their general direction.

Sebastian blinked.

A naked and very flexible girl was doing a slow bump and grind in the center of the room. Scarlet wall hangings set off her creamy curves and waist-length blond hair, and the polished marble floor reflected her full breasts as she bent and jiggled temptingly. Her evident intent was to display her no-doubt outstanding ass to the man sprawled in the golden throne behind her.

But if she was trying to get his attention, she had her work cut out for her; two more women crouched at his feet. As one of them moved her head, Sebastian realized the pair was paying loving lip service to the erection the man had liberated from his jeweled codpiece.

Without turning a hair, Bayard stepped back and made a sweeping gesture at the fellatio recipient. “His Dominance, Xarles Ferrau, Dominor of Rabican.”

“Ah, you're here!” the Dominor said, straightening belatedly. One of the girls made a protesting sound and moved her head as though trying to recapture whatever portion of his anatomy had escaped her mouth.

Ferrau looked down at the dick-sucking duo and made a shooing gesture as he scooped his softening cock back into his codpiece. “Enough! Take yourselves off!”

The girls, including the dancer, instantly scampered in different directions, jiggling deliciously. Sebastian watched them go with longing until Trin jabbed an elbow in his side.
“Pig,”
she commed.

Rubbing his ribs, he grinned down at her fondly. Marrying Trin was the smartest thing Nathan had ever done.
“Oink,”
he agreed.

While he'd been distracted, Nathan and the Dominor had begun the obligatory protocol mating dance.

They kept it up so long even Nathan's patience began to fray. “You said in your message that you were in need of our assistance, but you couldn't discuss the details over the com,” the captain said finally, spreading both arms in a
Well, we're here
gesture. “How may we be of service?”

The Dominor sat back on his throne and eyed them. He was not a tall man, and his round face was as blandly ordinary as his thinning brown hair. Still, there was something about him that drew the eye—some impression of intelligence and authority. “I have heard a great deal about the power of your . . . what's the phrase?”

“Nanotech implants,” Nathan supplied. Then, just in case the Dominor hadn't already heard the lecture, he added, “Cybernetic structures no bigger than molecules. They graft themselves to our muscles, bones, and nervous systems to perform different tasks, ranging from strength enhancement to computation to detecting infrared radiation.”

“Nanotech implants. Yes, that's it.” Ferrau gave him an intense, narrow-eyed look. “I'm told these things make supermen of you—that you're stronger, faster, and more clever than ordinary men. Is this true?”

“Yes.”

Damn, Nathan did that well. Just that flat “yes,” without elaboration. It made the statement all the more believable. As it should be, since it was the simple truth.

“Show me.” The Dominor gestured, and another naked lovely appeared, carrying a long object wrapped in a length of black velvet.

Sebastian contained a sigh. They always wanted demonstrations.

The girl started to hand the package to Nathan, but Ferrau said, “No, not him. The blond one.”

Sebastian raised a brow but accepted the package anyway. Unwrapping the fabric, he found it did indeed contain the expected steel bar.

Bored, he caught the bar by either end and twisted it neatly into a loop. With his implants, he barely had to expend any effort at all.

“Yes!” The Dominor sat forward in his throne, his eyes gleaming. “You'll do nicely.”

“We're delighted to hear it,” Nathan said patiently. “But again, for what?”

“Rescuing my son.” Ferrau's mouth drew tight, and a hint of desolation flickered in his pale eyes. “He's been abducted, and I'm afraid he's in great danger.”

“
S
OMEONE kidnapped your child?” Trinity asked. “That's terrible! How old is he?”

The Dominor sat back in his seat with a sigh. “Actually, Arnoux is twenty-six. He was out with a hunting party when he was set upon by agents of Ila Orva, the Dominess of the neighboring dominality of Corvo.” He rubbed the spot between his brows with the fingers of one hand, as if trying to ease a headache. “He's been Ila's prisoner for the past month.”

“So you want to hire the
Starrunner
to attack Corvo?” Nathan asked.

Ferrau's head jerked up. “Sweet Goddess of Pain, no! You might kill him. Assuming Ila did not slay him herself, as she's threatened to do if I dare mobilize my forces. Arnoux is my only son, and my wife . . .” He trailed off. “No, I can't risk that. This must be done subtly, but with great speed. Before the Dominess . . .” Ferrau stopped, and his mouth tightened.