Omega Games Page 7

  “We did not know Davidov was the trader offering the bounty,” I told her. “We met with him because he was once my husband’s friend, and he claimed to have information about it. He told us that Trellus was under its own quarantine, and tried to talk me into coming to the colony. He offered to smuggle me down during his supply drop.”

  “That sounds screwed up enough to be the truth. Lights down. So.” The golden stars in her violet eyes expanded as the emitters dimmed. “Any particular reason he decided that it had to be you? Maybe you being in so tight with the Hsktskt?”

  “I am not tight with anyone,” I said.

  “You went to their planet.” Malice sharpened her voice. “You saved them from that plague. I call that pretty tight.”

  She did not care for the Hsktskt; that much was evident. I would have to make her believe I didn’t either.

  “I was forced by the Faction to go to Vtaga.” I kept my eyes down and my tone submissive, as if I were answering an Iisleg male. “They threatened to begin the war again if I did not help them. While I was there I was abducted by criminals, several times, and my husband and child were nearly killed.”

  Mercy didn’t say anything for a time. Then the lines around her nose and mouth slowly disappeared. “Obviously you got away.”

  “I was very lucky.” I decided to change the subject. “Davidov told us that the colony had instituted the quarantine. He insinuated that there were medical reasons for it.”

  “Oh, there’s a psychiatric reason,” Mercy said. “He’s a fucking lunatic.” She took the medical case one of the drednocs had brought in and opened it. “You pack a lot of supplies. What sort of doctor are you, anyway?”

  “I’m a surgeon. I specialize in cardiothoracic procedures, but I have worked as a trauma physician and a battlefield medic.” I saw her expression change. “Do you need a doctor here?”

  “Yes,” the wall said.

  “No.” Mercy began to pace the length of the room. “All right, change of plans. I can’t release you into the general population. Too many people have seen these relays. They’ll assume you’re in with Davidov, and you’ll end up dangling from a transmitter or turning into a lump of ice at the bottom of a crater.” She raised her voice. “Cat? Get your ass in here.”

  Before Mercy finished speaking, Squilyp hopped into the room.

  I ran to him, but stopped short as I realized the male was not my friend the Senior Healer. This Omorr had a wide, gray-green scar running the length of one arm, which, like the rest of his form, bulged with muscular development. Several black spiral tattoos encircled his outer gildrells. A bronze leather weapons halter crisscrossed his bare chest, gleaming with sheathed Omorr fighting knives. More dark brown leather covered him from the waist down, and a spiked boot encased his one broad foot.

  I gaped at him. “Dævena Yepa.”

  “No, Omorr male.” He stood his ground while his gildrells flared wildly with nerves. When I opened my mouth to speak again, he interrupted with, “Don’t you even think about spitting on me.”

  “She’s not from the homeworld,” Mercy told him, and patted his arm. “Cherijo, this is Cataced, my Omorr business manager, junior partner, and the chief pain in my ass. Cat, this is Cherijo, mysterious surgeon with very large bounty on her head.”

  I considered asking her to call me Jarn, but the explanation as to why might make her suspicions about me return. While I was here, I would have to answer to my former self’s name. “I am happy to meet you, Cataced.”

  Cat ignored my greeting and reached out to tug on Mercy’s sleeve. “You can’t turn her loose.”

  “They know that scout was in orbit with Davidov before it crashed,” Mercy told him. “Everyone saw it crash. Everyone picked up the relays he’s been transmitting. We could kill her and dump the body, I suppose. Except she’s supposed to be immortal. I wonder if Swap’s hungry.”

  “You can’t feed her to your pet worm.” The Omorr studied me for a moment. “She’s not hideous. We’ve got an entire house full of females. We alter her appearance enough to make her look like one of the girls.”

  “And that’s going to fool the males in this colony, who have used every girl under my roof countless times since the blockade started, for how long?” Mercy dragged a hand over her hair and gave me an exasperated look. “They come and find her here, they will raze this place to the ground and toss us out the nearest air lock.”

  “We have to protect her,” Cat said, putting himself in her path. “Mercy. Come on. She’s a doctor.”

  “What difference will that make?” she demanded. “She can’t do anything but feel foreheads and take temperatures. She’s a liability. We have to get rid of her.”

  “I will leave, and tell no one that I was here or how you helped me,” I offered, drawing their attention away from each other. “Only show me where my husband is. I will need him to protect me.”

  “I can’t, honey,” Mercy said, at last showing some sympathy. “He was salvaged by Drefan’s dreds, and he belongs to Omega Dome until he can reimburse Drefan for the cost of the rescue. It’s how we do things here.”

  “Neither of us are carrying anything of value,” I pointed out. “We have some limited assets, but they are on Joren. We cannot pay you until after we leave.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Cat told me. “If your husband is in any kind of fighting shape, Drefan will use him in the games.” When he saw my blank look, he added, “Gamers is a bloodsport arena. Simulated battles, hunting expeditions, or any other confrontation where you have to kill or be killed.” He flicked a glance toward Mercy. “It’s the second oldest form of recreation on Trellus.”

  “No one actually dies,” Mercy assured me. “Drefan uses certain control measures inside each grid. The simulations can’t kill or maim any of the gamers.”

  My stomach clenched at the thought of Reever being forced to fight, even under simulated conditions. “What can I do to free him from the obligation to this Drefan?”

  “You? Nothing,” Mercy said.

  “I can talk to him, and see if we can work out a deal,” Cat said. “Drefan owes me. But we want something in return.”

  “No, we don’t,” Mercy said instantly.

  “Shut up,” he told her. To me, he said, “We don’t have a doctor on colony, and all of the girls here need medical exams. Will you take a look at them?”

  Mercy threw up her arms. “Why don’t I set fire to the place myself? Saves us having to wait for the enraged, insane mob to arrive and do it. I never liked this place much anyway. The walls still smell of Rilken.”

  “Pay no attention to the semihysterical Terran,” Cat said. “She thinks everyone is out to get her.”

  “Everyone has tried to get me,” Mercy said, her teeth clenched. “Since when did you become such a champion of Terrans?”

  “I don’t know,” he shot back. “I can definitely think of one female I’d like to beat senseless.”

  She puckered her lips as if to kiss him. “Only beat?”

  Their bickering reminded me so much of Squilyp and me while we were arguing over patients that I almost laughed. “I will perform medical exams on anyone you wish.” I saw them both frown and added, “Please. Help us.”

  Mercy swore in a language my wristcom wouldn’t translate. “Cat, signal Omega Dome. See if Drefan still has the husband and what he wants to settle the salvage debt. I’ll think about whatever he relays back.” As he started to reply, she lifted one finger. “Not another word, or I kick her out just on principle.”

  “Fine. It’s your whorehouse.” The Omorr stomped out.

  “Never hire an Omorr to run your business,” Mercy advised me with mocking seriousness. “They’re great with the books, they think thieving is beneath them, and what they can do with blades probably makes you look like a fumbling amateur. But soft-hearted? Christ. P’Kotmans are tougher.”

  I was more concerned with the last thing Cat had said. “This place is a . . . whorehouse?”

/>   “I prefer to call it a brothel.” She noted my reaction with a half smirk. “Didn’t I mention that before?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then.” She made a grand, sweeping gesture. “Welcome to Mercy House, Doc. Home of the oldest form of recreation on Trellus.”

  The thought of a house filled with females selling sexual services bemused me. The Iisleg had no brothels, as any man could use almost any woman for coupling whenever he pleased. Certain females were made to cater to all men, but the ahayag were not compensated, only used. An Iisleg male certainly would never entertain the notion of paying for sex. The only females he could not have were the wives of certain high-ranking males within the tribes, who were reserved for use by their husband only.

  Jorenians did not couple with anyone but their mates, and only after they had Chosen, for the purposes of bonding and procreation. A brothel would quickly go out of business on Joren.

  I knew from the data Reever had given me on Terra that my kind had created humanlike machines, called sex drones, which could be rented or purchased by those wishing to couple. They had not been the machines in which I had been created, which only made the idea of them somewhat less repulsive.

  Reever preferred to couple only with me, but that was no doubt due to his unusual upbringing.

  “There are three rules in my business,” Mercy told me as she escorted me down the corridor into what she called the dining room. “The first one is always keep the customers happy. Happy tricks come back.”

  She had offered to speak in Iisleg, but I asked her to use stan Terran. Now I was beginning to regret that. “You practice deception as well as prostitution? “

  “Tricks are what we call our customers,” she explained as she prepared two servers of hot liquid, “although certain deceptions of kindness are a big part of the business, too. Here, drink this.” She offered me one of the servers.

  I took a surreptitious sniff. The scent startled me. “Is this idleberry?”

  “Yeah, but not quite as bitter as your people brew it.” Mercy sipped some of her own. “One of my girls brought the seeds with her when she was sold offworld. She started growing it in one of our agridomes, and got me hooked on it.” She saw my expression and scowled. “This doesn’t mean we’re best friends. I’m putting everything I have at risk here for you, and I am very attached to my personal wealth. It’s just something to drink.”

  “It’s not the tea.” I thought of how best to ask. “You use slaves here?”

  “Most of them were enslaved,” Mercy said, giving me a direct look. “None of them are now. They’re free, paid employees who choose to make this their profession. I peddle sex, Cherijo, not flesh.”

  We sat down in a comfortable rectangle of cushioned seats, and Mercy propped her feet on the low, oval table set in the center of it. I found myself oddly fascinated by this Terran. Because we shared one body between us, I had never been able to meet Cherijo. I sensed that Mercy’s uncertain temper, colorful way of speaking, and possessive outlook were not all that different than my former self’s.

  This might be the closest I ever came to knowing the woman who had occupied my body.

  “You’re very far away from the homeworld,” I said to her. “How did you come to be here?”

  “I wasn’t born on Terra.” She cradled her server between her hands. “My parents had me in space, on the jaunt here. They and a group of other crazy pioneers were the original colonists on Trellus. We lived in orbit for a while as they were building the first habitat domes and installing the radiation shields.” She stared down into her server and her tone changed. “After that, we had six good years.”

  I heard pain, rage, and sorrow lurking behind her soft words. “And in the seventh year?”

  “The fucking Hsktskt came.” The server made a cracking sound between her hands, and Mercy rose and carried it over to the disposal unit.

  In that time, the Hsktskt only came to a colony of warm-blooded beings for one reason: to raid it. They would have stripped the planet of everything of value, killed most of the inhabitants, and enslaved the rest. That she had survived such a raid meant she had been left behind to die in the ruins.

  I knew the Hsktskt’s raiding had been born out of resentment toward the warm-blooded species that had intruded on their territory and started colonizing it without their permission. It did not justify what they had done to so many worlds.

  No wonder she hated me for curing the plague on Vtaga. To her it must seem as if I had betrayed our own kind.

  I waited until she glanced at me, and said, “I am sorry, Mercy.”

  “Yeah. So were we.” She walked around the room, absently picking up things and putting them back down. “My parents died defending this dome. The lizards took or killed everyone else, except me and a couple of other kids who were too small to sell. About half of them starved before the first trader came along. I didn’t, and I’ve been here ever since, and why the hell am I telling you all this stuff?”

  “We are both Terran,” I said. “One feels a certain bond to another of the species when isolated from the rest. Why didn’t the traders who came after the Hsktskt take you back to Terra?”

  She uttered a humorless sound. “Traders don’t give away passage, not when they can fill the space with cargo they’re paid to transport. It wasn’t so bad after the pleasure missionaries landed and set up the Shelter. The first training brothel,” she added when she caught my expression. “I suppose you don’t approve of my business, either.”

  “I am Iisleg, not Terran,” I reminded her. “As long as it doesn’t harm others, what a woman does to survive is her choice.”

  “Well, no matter what they take away from you, you still have your body. The missionaries taught us that.” Her expression turned wry. “I’m sure homeworld-raised Terrans would spit on me for what I do.”

  She didn’t seem too concerned about that. “Wouldn’t it bother you if they did?”

  “Hell, no. I worked my way up through the ranks, learned every aspect of the business end of the pleasure industry, and saved enough credits to start my own house. All before I was eighteen.” She ran a fond hand over the back of one of the seating arrangements. “In some ways it’s no different than being a trader or a soldier. Only I don’t have to jaunt anywhere or kill anyone.”

  “Do the colonists treat you fairly?”

  “They have to.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m one of the richest beings in the quadrant.”

  I finished my tea and stood. “Would you show me around the rest of Mercy House?”

  That seemed to take her aback. “You really want to see it, Doc, or are you just being polite?”

  “I am being polite,” I replied, “and I really want to see it.”

  “Keep up the honesty thing you’re doing,” she said. “I like it.”

  Mercy led me from the dining room out to the main corridor, which ran the length of the house and led off into five different sections. The two largest were reserved for the trade of the house. One had been converted into quarters for the brothel staff, most of whom lived as well as worked in the house. The last two contained kitchens, supply rooms, and Mercy’s office and private quarters.

  “When I decided to open my own place, I didn’t have enough credits to cover building it new,” Mercy told me. “I won this one from the previous owner, this Rilken hustler who tried to cheat me in a game of whump-ball. He saw Terran and thought stupid—big mistake. I’ve been sharking whump-tables with traders for so long I can run a table in my sleep.”

  I sniffed the air. “Rilkens lived here?”

  “Oh, I had the place thoroughly deconned and re-modeled before I moved in to set up shop.” She stopped to listen at one closed-door panel. “They might be small, but Jesus, they’re slobs. Hang on one sec.” She checked the door panel controls, which had the last entrance time displayed, and then enabled the room audio. “Eka, his hour was up ten minutes ago.”

 
“I told him that, Mercy,” a strained voice replied. “He won’t disengage and I can’t shake him off.”

  “Wait here,” Mercy said to me, and overrode the lock on the door. A blast of moist heat came billowing out as she entered the room, and reminded me so much of Vtaga that I half expected to see a pair of Hsktskt inside coupling.

  A dusky-skinned, red-haired female dripping with perspiration sat in the center of the room on a reclining couch. What appeared to be a large green octopoid had attached itself to her shoulders and neck. Its tentacles were entwined in the female’s scarlet locks, and it expanded and contracted as it made loud sucking sounds.

  Mercy took out a device, jammed it against the parasite, and pressed a switch. The octopoid squealed and dropped to the floor to thrash and roll, its tentacles whipping the air in a frenzy.

  “Mk-tk,” Mercy said, putting her boot on top of the parasite to hold it in place. “We’ve been over this a hundred times. You can’t suck on Ekatarana’s derma for longer than an hour. It’s not fair to her. She becomes dehydrated.”

  Mk-tk stopped thrashing and made a snorkeling sound through a nose or mouth shaped like a collapsing cone filled with filament-fine sensory organs.

  “I don’t care how many credits you throw at me, pal,” Mercy told him. “If you can’t respect the house safety limits, you can take yourself and your body fluid fetish somewhere else.” She lifted her boot. “We understand each other? Or do I dunk you in the nearest liquid-waste disposal and see how you like sucking on that?”

  Mk-tk shivered all over, curled into a ball, and rolled out of the room past me and disappeared around a corner.

  “Idiot male.” Mercy tilted Eka’s head to one side and brushed back her flame-colored hair, revealing a large section of flesh mottled with black bruising. “Your arms aren’t broken. Why didn’t you hit the panic switch when he wouldn’t let go?”

  “Not like he’s an Edpriyin bloodsucker, Merc,” the prostitute said. “Besides, after every session with him you let me spend the rest of the day in the tub.” She gazed past Mercy at me and frowned. “Who’s going to service her? They’ll need some direction.”