Approaching Oblivion (Jezebel's Ladder Book 4) (5 page)

“Yes.
I suppose. I didn’t put the two together.” His left eyelid developed a tic.

“Because
it would interfere with what you wanted. Sleep deprivation is a form of
torture
.
You basically tortured her into having sex with you again.”

“I-I
wouldn’t say that.”

“How
would you define it?”

He
winced. Meekly, he said, “I tried to be nice to her. I fed her a few times. I
even let her shower and did her nails.”

Mercy
whispered in Red’s ear. She in turn addressed the witness. “Speaking of nails,
who scratched the letter R into your side?”

“Yvette.”

“Why?”

He
blinked several times. “You’d have to ask her.”

“Why
did you let her?”

“I
deserved the pain.”

“Why?”

He
tried to dam his mouth shut, but blurted, “Because I hurt her after she
escaped, so she wouldn’t warn Lou about the blinding. I bruised her mouth and
right arm. I’d let someone beat me a hundred times to make up for that.”

“Judge,
let the record show admission to these charges as well, plus what he did to
you.”

“He’s
somewhere in excess of thirty penal years already, but let’s focus on the rape
charge for now.”

“It
wasn’t rape!” Toby insisted. “I wasn’t right in the head. I love her, and she
knows that. She loved me back. She’s the only one who does.”

“How
do you know she loves you?”

“We
pair-bonded. You can’t force someone to do that against their will.”

“You
think she wanted to be with you for life in this twisted closet existence where
she only woke to meet your needs? Or, did she infect you with Ethics in an
effort to stop the abuse. In which scenario would she brand you with an R for
rapist?”

Toby
doubled over in pain. “Somebody kill me,” he begged when he could talk again.

“Proof
of both his imbalance and regret,” Zeiss said, returning to the bench.

“Do
you wish to change your plea?” asked Lou.

“Guilty,”
replied the defendant.

“Accepted.”

Before
Red could ask more questions, Zeiss prompted, “Sentencing, your honor?”

“Evaluation
will come first,” Lou said. “We’ll confine him in the Olympus storage area to
sleep. It’s our only locked room. Dr. Baatjies, because of diminished capacity,
the exact sentence length and terms of your service will be withheld until you
are no longer a danger to yourself or others. Dr. Auckland, how long is that
likely to take?”

“We’ll
try drugs one at a time, starting with the antidepressants, because once he
realizes what he’s done he’ll be suicidal. Each drug takes a minimum of two
weeks to ramp up in his system before we can tell and then about the same to
taper off. I can get him baseline functional with drugs in under a year. He
won’t freak out every time we jump if we monitor his meds, but long term Yvette
would need to help. He still needs rehabilitative counseling and help to
integrate the Ethics page.”

“Until
Yvette agrees to and completes his treatment, Toby has no access to off-duty
women. He can only visit women on duty with their consent, and then only with
an armed third party present.”

“This
is outrageous. How can we function as a colony like this?” the mayor
complained.

“Better
than if Yvette and I had ended up dead,” Lou said. “Next we’ll address
reparations. Most of Yvette’s possessions were divided up when we thought she
was dead. Further, Yvette can’t serve until she has healed. By contrast, as a
doctor in high-risk zones, you will receive a luxurious allotment. To remedy
this inequity, the court suggests giving her half your earnings and belongings,
including insurance and death benefits.”

Oleander
placed a computer pad in front of Toby with a financial legal document
displayed.

“You’re
not going to kill me?” asked Toby, sounding disappointed.

“We
can’t. You’re linked to someone we all love. If we killed you, she’d suffer.”

“Will
she ever forgive me?”

“She
might, eventually, if you demonstrate remorse and change. I won’t count on her
ever touching you again, though.”

Toby
lowered his head. “I’m inextricably bound to the one woman in the world who
hates me.”

“Oh,
I think we all do, Baatjies,” said Oleander.

Two weeks under the
iridescent sky passed rapidly for Yvette. At first, the daily rhythm of farm
chores with Mercy felt more like a vacation than work. Then the stooping to
plant more rice crops taxed her body. When her pregnant friend had to take one
of her frequent breaks for fatigue and urination, Yvette asked, “How did all
this get planted before we arrived?”

“Sensei
probably had robots do it, but now it’s our job,” Mercy answered.

“Why?”

“Maybe
we needed to make one of the planners a food specialist, and the six we chose
were all pilots and engineers.” Mercy shrugged. “I’ve also been reading about
parenting, and they say you should never do something for a child that they can
do for themselves.”

The
casual remark detonated something inside her like a land mine. Irrational anger
flooded through Yvette. “Sensei is no parent of mine.”

They
worked the rest of that day in near silence.

By
the end of their time in subspace, Yvette had to collect the afternoon eggs
because the smell of chicken manure or raw eggs made Mercy nauseous.

On
the first day in the new solar system, the two emerged from the cave together,
and the glare of true sunlight beat down on them like a physical weight. “Do
they have to get this close to the star?” Yvette moaned.

“Unfortunately,
yes,” said Mercy. “There aren’t any full planets in this system, so the nexus
points are close to the fire. This blast is coming from just one open window.
All the others are still shuttered. The biosphere is scheduled to heat up a
little more each day. We’ll be able to open more shutters as we drift farther
into space. Light cycles and temperatures will stabilize in about three weeks.”

“What
about the brutal sun for today?”

“Not
a problem; I grew up in the tropics. We just need hats. I’ll show you how to
weave a straw hat out of saw grass or something.”

“We’ll
look like we belong on
Little House on the Prairie
.”

“Better
than sunstroke. Water-conservation measures kicked in today.”

“Then
you need to eat more fruit. Your body likes the vitamins, and it gives you
extra fluids.”

Mercy
nodded. Gazing up at the new sky, she asked, “I wonder what they’re doing on
Earth right now?”

“I
don’t know, but it probably involves lying, murdering, and stealing.”

Taking
her hand, Mercy whispered, “Are you having another bad day?”

“No.
I’m just wondering whether we’re doing the right thing, opening up the rest of
the universe to our kind. We did everything we could to choose the best of the
best for this mission, and we still brought the contamination with us.”

“We’re
not what we’re supposed to be yet, but we
can
get there.”

The
nurse held her tight, wanting to believe.

****

After
weeks of ranging to the far corners of
Sanctuary
for harvests, Mercy celebrated
the removal of her hand bandage with a nap. Pregnancy and hard labor in the relentless
heat had exhausted the young woman. Yvette suggested they hike the hills near
the Hollow for a change of pace. The morning after their hike, Mercy woke her early
at the women’s dormitory in the storage caves. Barefoot, she showed the nurse
her red-spotted ankles. “I think its some kind of plant-induced rash. I’ve
never been allergic to these things before.”

“It’s
the baby,” explained Yvette. “Your body is changing. You may heal more slowly
as well. Stay here.” She retuned with a bottle of white goo and handed it to
Mercy. “Squirt this on, let it soak for a few minutes, and then you can scrub
off the plant oils.”

The
younger woman read the label. “They use this stuff for radioactive fallout.”

“It
has more mundane applications as well. Today we find some duty to keep you out
of the weeds and me out of the heat. Maybe you could join your husband?”

“No.
He’s already in Olympus.”

“An
early day for him.”

“Zeiss
is an early riser. He needs someone to keep the telescope lens of the ship
aimed at our next target, the Oblivion system, and my man has the smoothest
touch on the controls. They’re getting as much information as they can before
we arrive.”

“About
the planet the Magi want us to visit?” Yvette almost spit the term for the
aliens.

“Technically,
it’s the fourth moon of the second planet. So far we know that planet B is a
gas giant similar to Saturn. Sojiro already wants to name the parent planet
Mongo after the home world of Ming the Merciless.”

“I
know this sort of thing excites you, but I’m still not ready to return to the
command saucer.”

“We
could help Yuki in the barn,” Mercy suggested.

The
nurse was suspicious. Mercy kept trying to convince her to pray at the grotto,
but Yvette was too angry—at Toby, the Magi, and God. “You mean chapel.”

“No.
They’re using it as a real barn for the upcoming winter. It has a roof now and
should be cooler than the fields.”

Reluctantly,
Yvette agreed for her friend’s sake.

They
walked around the barn calling, but Yuki was nowhere to be found. Outside,
bundles of mature grain were stacked in the sun to dry. Inside, the round,
stone floor was flat and clean. From chest height up, the walls were lined with
wide shelves, each labeled in white tape and neat, black calligraphy. Mercy
hollered once into the structure, and Sojiro answered from a corner. He was dressed
in striped, baggy, linen pants and a sleeveless, white T-shirt that would’ve
been at home in
The Great Gatsby
. “She went to get more of my chalk from
Olympus.”

Mercy
ran to hug him hello. He responded with theatrical cheek kisses, one on each
side, but he kept his sooty-looking hands away from her clothes. “Careful,
Momma Hen, I’m doing some charcoal sketching.”

“You’ve
decided on your first piece?” Mercy asked, excitedly. “Show us!”

Yvette
was jealous because the smallest surprise could cause her friend so much
happiness.

Sojiro
led them to where he had his two-meter-tall smart-paper display of a photograph
tacked to the wall. He was sketching his rendition of that giant image off to
the right. “The theme is mythological representations of people in our party.”

When
Yvette circled to where she could see the high-definition photo of the original
sculpture, the breath squeezed out of her. A well-muscled, horned giant
captured a fleeing, panicked woman from behind. The caption said, ‘The Rape of
Persephone.’ In the sketch on the fresh plaster, the fleeing woman had her
face. The picture could’ve been taken from her own nightmares. The Japanese
artist had hit the nail on the head. She couldn’t take her eyes off it.

“It’s
rough. You don’t like it? I can change the angle. Or, I was also thinking of
this one.” With a touch to the smart paper, the view changed to Apollo chasing
Daphne with the same lustful intent. In this photo, the woman escaped by
changing into a tree. “I love the original sculpture because the leaves are so
fine that when you tap them, they ring like silver. They’re eternal yet fragile.
That quality is hard to convey in a fresco.”

Was
she wooden and rooted in place now? Fragile? Or was she fighting tooth and nail
against a malevolent god who forced her to imbibe part of his essence?

The
artist rambled on. “For you, Mercy, I have something really hot—Cupid and
Psyche. Lou is the winged lover—you know, pilot and ladies’ man. She’s all
innocent and cerebral.”

“Wow,”
Mercy said with a blush. “Is Cupid the blind one?”

“Blindfolded
sometimes,” said Sojiro. “He could only visit Psyche in her bedroom with the
lights off. When she cheated to see his true form, he had to fly away. The gods
made her perform feats like Hercules just to see that boy again, but she did
every one of them because my girl was smart. Eventually, they had to make her
immortal, too, so they could do it with the lights on in the middle of the
Louvre. There’s a vent nearby so old ladies can cool off.”

Mercy
cleared her throat. “Are my kids going to be able to look at this?”

“Girl,
for centuries people are going to look at your drawing and say, ‘Damn, those
two are in love.’ The magnetism between those faces makes you believe. I can
shift it so that his wings cover most of your ‘naughty bits,’ as Lou would call
them.” He turned the point of view slightly by moving his prosthetic fingers
and thumb.

“Lou
probably has other names for them,” Yuki muttered as she stepped into the barn.
The Japanese technician was wearing short-shorts, and her shirt had been
trimmed to display her navel. The ‘Mary Ann’ outfit had started a trend among
the women of the Hollow, whether to keep cool or maintain the attention of
their men. Even Rachael wore her yoga outfit with tight, black pants and a
look-at-me pink top. Johnny and Herk related the details of the contest so Lou
could still make crude, appreciative comments. Mercy called these frequent
drinking companions his seeing-eye dawgs.

Yuki
stared at the immobile nurse. “O-kay. Four things. First, cute hats.”

Mercy
replied, “Thanks. I can teach you how to make your own.”

“Me,
too!” demanded the artist.

“Second,
Sojiro only asked me to bring the airbrush with the gold and sepia paints for
the background, but I brought your entire paint case because I know you’ll
sneak in a splash of some other color.”

“Oh,
gimme,” Sojiro said. “I will need some subtle blush for Mercy’s face glow.” He
began rummaging through the stock of colors.

“Scary
how well I know him. Third, since nobody asked, I’m going to be ‘Winged
Victory,’ standing alone.”

“Isn’t
she totally armless?” asked Mercy.

“Yeah,
but I like the symbolism,” Yuki said, “And lastly, what’s with Yvette?”

“She’s
processing,” said Mercy. “Sun bonnets?”

Yvette
sat like a statue while the others wove clumsy, floppy hats. Yuki used her good
hand and one foot to replicate the technique. Sojiro added his own flourishes,
including a bundle of large, white feathers.

“You
look like a pimp,” Yuki said. “I’m loving this fashion event, but I have work
to do, guys. Not all of us have pilot salaries to draw from. Until I can
volunteer for high-risk duty, I have to put in extra hours as a gopher. Toby
isn’t allowed to fetch things for himself.”

At
the mention of the criminal, Sojiro excused himself from the room.

Mercy
watched for signs of reaction in her friend Yvette, but she remained silent.
“What’s Toby doing now? How does he look?”

“His
bone calcium is lower than anyone but Ole’s because he refuses to exercise.
He’s depressed because Yvette won’t open any of his emails,” Yuki confided. “I
think he writes an apology a day. In his spare time, he’s designing
improvements to his own medication.”

“They
let him do that?”

“The
meds we brought are a little old-fashioned: interlocking mirrors of the same
molecule. He wants to manufacture just the right half, claiming there’ll be
fewer side effects. Work calms him. The medicine fabricators aren’t used much,
but Pratibha makes him pay for every experiment—the stingy bitch.”

“You’re
sticking up for him?”

“No.
I’m saying power is going to the czar’s head. She’s already making noises about
not giving your baby an allotment because it’s not a crew member.”

“What?”
Mercy dropped the hat she’d been weaving, and a row unraveled. “Why?”

Yuki
shrugged. “Maybe she didn’t like that you donated your share to my sensor fund.
I’ll pay you back some day, I swear.”

“How
did you know I did that? It was anonymous.”

“You’re
the only one who’s been wearing the same damn shirt all month.”

“My
other clothes are too tight. New ones wouldn’t help me now; I’d just outgrow
them. Pretty soon, I’m going to have to take off my underwear or it’ll get
permanently stretched out of shape. I’m putting it off because it’ll make Lou
horny all the time. He calls it ‘easy access.’”

Rolling
her eyes, Yuki said, “Like he needs an excuse. I’m sure those incredible
growing breasts of yours lit his fire weeks ago. I’ll bet you two have as much
sex as the rest of the camp combined.”

Mercy
blushed and refused to comment.

Pushing
a small cart full of grain bundles into the barn, Sojiro changed the subject
for her. “What are you going to call little Lou?”

“
If
it’s a girl, Amelia Earhart. If it’s a boy, Lancelot Stewart.”

“Lancelot? Ack.”

“My husband’s real first name is
Kai and my father was Percival. It’s an Arthurian theme.”

“And Lou signed off on continuing
the cruelty to the next generation?”

“He’s lobbying for Angus, which
means lamb. I never understood why ranchers use that name for beef.”

“Stewart or beef. Either way, we
can call him ‘Stew,’” Sojiro joked. “He’ll like it because it rhymes with
‘Lou.’”