The Sardonyx Net (6 page)

She put him back in the chair, holding his shoulders so that he couldn't move. The russet-haired man looked at his head, flashed a light twice into his eyes, and probed at the muscles of his neck with gentle authority. “You'll have a headache,” he said. “Didn't your mother ever tell you not to skop with Skellians?”
 

Dana said nothing. His ribs hurt, his elbow ached, and his brain felt jellied from the Skellian's blow.
 

The russet-haired man said, “Thank you, Jo. That's all.” The Skellian left. Dana swallowed back the blood in his mouth.
 

“Well?” he said.
 

The russet-haired man said, “I'm Zed Yago, commander of the Net.”
 

Dana said, “I'm not pleased to meet you.” But despite the bravado behind his words, he was afraid. Chills shook the base of his spine.
 

The Net commander smiled, a corner of his mouth quirked. In an odd, almost affectionate gesture, he ran two fingers along the line of Dana's jaw, and then stepped back. “Would you like to tell me, Starcaptain, what your true business is in Abanat?”
 

Dana said, “No. I'd be cutting my own throat. I could never work Sardonyx Sector again, and when word got around—and it would—no other sector either. Forget it.” He took a deep breath, trying to ease the pain in his side, and straightened slowly.
 

Zed Yago said gravely, “You don't yet understand your situation.” He walked to the table, and leaned from Dana's view. When he came back, he was holding something in his hand: a printout. Dana took it in his left hand. His headache made it hard for him to focus. Finally, he puzzled out the meaning of the legal terminology. He was looking at a slave contract for ten years, from Chabad.
 

His name was on it.
 

He went cold. Zed Yago took it from him. “You are a drug smuggler, Starcaptain, though you've not yet been tried or convicted. The cooler in your ship proves you traffic in dorazine, which is a Federation crime. Transporting dorazine inter-sector is illegal, punishable by a high fine and a prison term, which in Sector Sardonyx translates to—this.” He held up the contract. “This is an actual contract; it even has your retinal pattern on it. I made a record of the pattern when I checked your eyes. I can tear it up, take it off the computer, return your ship to you, and let you go to Abanat to watch the Auction ... if you talk to me.
If
.”
 

Dana flexed the fingers of his right hand, trying to work feeling back into them. “I don't believe you,” he said. “Having a cooler isn't legal proof of anything. Transporting dorazine inter-sector is illegal, sure, but you can't prove I did it. You can't even get a conviction on the charge unless your evidence is cleared by the Hype cops. I'm damned if I'll tell you anything. You're bluffing.” He put both hands to the arms of the chair and tried, uselessly, to rise.
 

Zed Yago said gently, “You're wrong, you know. You didn't look closely enough. This contract was made up by LandingPort Narcotics Control, and it's already signed.” Before Dana could speak, he reached forward and pressed a gel capsule against Dana's neck. It was cool. Dana felt it dissolve. “You're going to sleep, now, Starcaptain,” said Zed Yago in that gentle voice. With one hand he freed his hair from its clip. Loose, it brushed his shoulders. “When you wake, we'll talk.”
 

Wait! Dana Ikoro tried to say. Wait, let's talk now.... But his mouth was numb; his lips wouldn't work. He couldn't even blink. The door opened. He sat paralyzed as tears dripped to his cheeks. He couldn't even lower his eyelids. Zed gave some orders. Two crew members appeared and lifted him between them, not roughly. He felt their hands pick him up. They asked Zed where he was to go, and Zed answered, “A holding cell.” But I didn't—I wasn't—he tried to speak and could not. He could barely feel his own breathing; he listened, and was infinitely reassured to hear the steady huff-huff of his lungs.
 

The walls danced passed him; he was being moved. “Careful,” said Zed Yago's voice. As the crew carted him from the room, Dana felt fingers brush against his face. With a look as tender as a lover's, the Net commander stroked Dana's eyelids down over his smarting eyes.
 

He lay in a room on a bed.
 

The room had curving walls. He tried to turn his head to follow the curve, but his head would not move. With great effort, he could open and close his mouth and his eyes. Maybe the paralysis was wearing off. He was naked, slightly chilly but not unbearably so. His bare feet looked distorted and very far away. He could move nothing below his waist. He sensed, without seeing them, that his wrists were strapped down near his sides.
 

He heard a hum. He heard voices; in a hallway, he guessed, outside the room door. He heard his heartbeat, regular, strong; he heard his breathing. He thought he could hear the blood washing through his veins.
 

He heard footsteps.
 

The room door opened.
 

Zed Yago walked in. He sat down on the edge of the bed. Dana felt it dip. He looked intent and happy. Lightly, he cupped one hand under Dana's chin, holding it rigid, his thumb lying under the ear against the soft flesh below the jaw. “Do you feel that?” he said. “Don't try to speak. I can see you do.”
 

He took his hand away. “The drug I gave you is a variant of dorazine. It was originally developed to treat catatonics. It increases the nervous system's receptivity to sensation. Theoretically, it shocked catatonics from their delusional state by forcing them to experience the world around them. But it caused a deep withdrawal in a significant number of patients, and its use was discontinued. There's a large, illegal traffic in it; you may even have carried it yourself. Don't let the paralytic effect scare you. It wears off.”
 

Dana worked his lips. They felt numb still. He bit the lower one. He tried to cough.
 

“Uh,” he said. “Wuh?” Zed laid a hand on his mouth to silence him.
 

Then again he took Dana's chin in his hand. He moved his thumb along the jawline. He pressed inward. Hard.
 

Pain drove through Dana's face and head. His left eye went dark. He strained to jerk his head away from the pain. He tried to scream. He could only grunt. Tears rolled down his face.
 

The pain went away. Zed Yago wiped the tears from his face with a cloth. “There's a nerve plexus there,” he said. He touched Dana's shoulder, and then slid his hand down Dana's bare arm to the elbow. Dana cried out as pain blossomed and spread through the elbow like flame. Zed released the pressure, but kept his fingers near the spot where he'd hit the nerve. “There, too,” he said.
 

Dana fought to steady his breath. It sounded in his ears like a thunderstorm. “Why?” he gasped, tasting the salt of tears in the corner of his mouth.
 

Again, Zed smiled a happy smile. “I don't like people to lie to me,” he said. “That's one reason. A better reason is that the information you have about the drug market could be important to Family Yago. A third reason is that you're going to be a slave, and slaves don't need reasons. You'll get used to that. But the fourth reason, and the only real one, is that I want to do it.” He slid his hand up Dana's arm to the shoulder, and from the shoulder slowly up to the line of the jaw.
 

Dana shut his eyes involuntarily, and tried to contain his scream.
 

The horizons of the world shrank. Morning was when he woke to hear Zed's footsteps in the corridor. He learned to pick their rhythm out of fifty others. Night was when Zed left him. During the night other people, not Zed, bathed him, fed him, gave him water, and then let him sleep. He had no idea how long day lasted, how long night was, or even, after a while, where he was. The boundaries of his world shrank to a small island, and the name of it was Pain.
 

By the end of the second day, he told his soft-voiced tormentor everything Yago might have wanted to know about the drug traffic, about Dana Ikoro's life. Writhing in the straps, he learned to interpret every nuance of Zed Yago's voice, the cock of his head, the set of his mouth, the movement of his hands. On the third day, the questions stopped. Information was not what Yago wanted from him. The awful care with which the hurt was administered helped him to understand it as a sexual act, as intense and blinding as orgasm. Zed let him ration his own rest. “Five minutes,” he gasped. He lay untouched, blessedly free from pain, for five minutes. Then the hands returned. But if he asked too often for mercy, he got none.
 

By the fourth day, he no longer had the strength to beg for release. He lay voiceless. Zed said to him, with approval, “You're very strong.” He smiled. “But if you think you've reached the end of your endurance—you're wrong.”
 

The morning of the fifth day, when he heard the familiar, terrible steps in the corridor, his muscles knotted. He began to shake. Zed opened the door. Dana waited for him to walk to the bed. But Zed only looked at him. He nodded once, like a man who has finished something, and stepped back outside, and slid the door closed.
 

Dana did not know how many hours it was before his convulsing muscles relaxed. It was a long time before he could cry.
 

When Zed came in again, he closed the door and came to stand by the bed. He watched Dana shake. At last, he reached out and smoothed Dana's hair. “All right,” he said. “It's all right. It's over.”
 

Dana's throat ached. The light dreadful stroking went on. After a while, he perceived it as comfort. He stopped trembling. Zed held a cup in front of his eyes. “Water,” he said. “Drink it; I'll hold your head.” He supported Dana's head with one arm as Dana drank. Then Zed rested him again on the pillow and put the cup aside.
 

Zed said, “In the morning, you'll go with me on the last shuttle to leave the Net. It bypasses the moon and goes directly to the Abanat LandingPort. There you'll be tried for drug smuggling: the LandingPort Narcotics Control has already filed its evidence, and your confession to me is evidence too.” He smiled. “Normally, after conviction, an ombudsman would explain to you your rights and duties as a slave, and then you'd go to the pens to be prepared for the Auction. But you won't be auctioned, Dana. I intend to buy you. Not for myself—I don't own slaves. But you're uncommon, a Starcaptain, a smuggler, and Family Yago can use your skills and knowledge. You'll be for my sister, Rhani. She'll decide what to do with you. You'll serve her well. If you serve her very well, she may even decide to free you early. She's sentimental about such things. I'm not. Remember that, Dana, if while you serve my sister you're tempted to escape, or steal from her, or lie to her, or even to make mistakes. Remember this.” He ran a fingertip along the line under Dana's jaw. Dana shivered. Zed touched him elsewhere, light reminders of past sensations that made him whimper. Then the Net commander walked softly from the room, and left him lying alone.
 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Three

 

 

Curled in her favorite wing chair with papers scattered around her, isolated from the rest of the house, Rhani Yago did not hear her secretary's soft sentence until he repeated it. “Rhani-ka, your brother's home.” She jumped from the chair; the papers flew in all directions. A dragoncat dozing on the kerit fur rug lifted an inquiring head.
 

“Here, now? Where?”
 

“In the garden,” Binkie said.
 

Rhani hastened to the glass door, slid it back, and stepped onto her terrace. Zed was not in sight. “Zed-ka!” she called.
 

“Coming, Rhani-ka,” Zed called from somewhere below her.
 

In the bedroom Binkie had picked up the scattered papers and piled them neatly on the tapestried footstool. His face was whiter than usual and there was something wrong with his eyes. Rhani knew what it was. “Binkie.”
 

He turned to face her, a sheet of paper in one hand.
 

“Put that down, find Amri, tell her to come and wait on us, and then go to your room and stay there.”
 

He swallowed. “That isn't necessary, Rhani-ka—”
 

“It is,” she said. “Don't argue with me.” He bowed his head in acquiescence and left. In a moment Zed entered the room, arms wide. Rhani flung herself at him. He smelled of grease and antiseptic. His hair had grown long and straggly in three months. Straining, she hugged him hard.
 

“Rhani-ka,” he said in her ear, “you look very well.”
 

She pulled out of his embrace to look at him. “So do you. Pale, though.” She thought, I always say that.
 

“There's no sunlight on the Net.”
 

“You were walking in the garden.”
 

“There's a heat-lightning storm over Abanat. We flew around it to get here. I wanted to look at it from the ground.”
 

“Just like a tourist,” she teased him. Amri tapped hesitantly at the door. “Wine,” Rhani said. “Have you eaten, Zed? Do you want food?”
 

“Chobi seeds?” he said. Rhani nodded at Amri. He put out a hand and drew her closer to him. “It's good to be home.” He drew his fingers in a lover's gesture, old between them, along the line of her jaw. He cupped her cheek in one hand. “I'm sorry I wasn't home to be with you through Domna Sam's death.”
 

She let her head rest in his cupped hand. “Yes. I missed you.”