ROMULUS (The Innerworld Affairs Series, Book 1) (17 page)

He had not expected her to leave, just like that. "Wait, uh, what about you? I mean, didn't you come here for something tonight too? I thought, maybe, well, uh, will I see you again?" He knew he was stuttering like an inexperienced boy but he didn't want her to get away.

"Now, now. You said you would leave it up to me. I promise you will see me again. Please, just relax and enjoy yourself."

Nick was totally bewildered as she hurried away but he would not move from that spot for anything short of an earthquake. It felt like hours instead of only the thirty minutes that passed when a short figure, dressed in the trappings of a desert nomad, shuffled up to him. The head, completely covered by a beige muslin scarf, remained bowed.

"You are The Sheik? Valentino?" The voice was a whisper, possibly a woman's.

Nick almost laughed out loud but he did not want to spoil the surprise Tarla had arranged. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Come with me please."

Nick obediently followed the woman into a room decorated for a sultan. Brightly colored silks billowed from the ceiling and white satin pillows were scattered all over the floor. An oversized chaise longue sat in the center. Its gilded framework was embedded with hundreds of glittering gems and a rich burgundy velvet covered its cushions.

While Nick gaped at the sumptuous display, his escort stepped aside and clapped her hands once. Instantly, three robed men came forward, bowing low before him.

One man opened the lid of the box he was holding. Handing it to Nick, he said, "A tribute to The Sheik from his loyal subjects." It was filled with diamonds, rubies and emeralds of all shapes and sizes. They looked very real Nick thought as he tried to keep a straight face.

The second man offered him an ornate silver key which was more than a foot long. "My country would be most honored if you would accept our gift of a palace overlooking the sea."

Entering into the play with all the majesty he could muster, Nick solemnly took the key with a slight nod of his head and handed it to his guide along with the jewel box. With his feet apart and his arms folded across his chest, he took on the stance he imagined a sheik would assume while the third man spoke.

"From my country I bring you four beautiful slave girls to ease the burdens of your days." He snapped his fingers and the women hustled forward with downcast eyes.

Nick coolly inspected these last gifts. The four very different women, one fair and buxom, one dark-skinned and lean, another Oriental and petite and the last was tall and muscular with flaming orange hair, were clad in transparent harem costumes. Was he supposed to make his own selection for the evening?

Nick barely noticed when his guide clapped her hands again and the men backed out of the room. The four women came forward and removed his clothing. Accustomed as he was to having strange women admire his naked body, he had never found himself exposed to so many female eyes at once.

Somewhere a flute began playing and the slave girls gyrated to the rhythm. They circled him, forty fingers stroking with light feathery touches from his neck to his thighs until Nick's flesh was covered with goose bumps.

When he shivered violently from head to toe, his torturers led him to the chaise, propping up his head and back with pillows. They passed a painted vase amongst them from which each poured a golden liquid into their palms.

Each woman stationed herself at the end of one of his limbs, and at precisely the same second their hands returned to his body. Beginning at his toes and fingers and working their way inward, their oiled hands manipulated his rippling muscles. The oil smelled spicy and left his skin feeling warm and tingly. A drum joined the flute and the massage took up the beat until his body pulsed to the music.

Rather than becoming aroused, he was getting drowsy. He closed his eyes and imagined that the wealth around him was truly his and his body reacted accordingly.

Two pairs of hands worked their way across his shoulders and down his chest and stomach at the same time as four other hands reached his hips. Without any effort on his part now, his blood surged into that region. His eyes flew open again when oily fingers curled around his manhood and massaged that as well. Each slave paid him like homage until he was ready to explode.

A loud clap brought him back to his senses and sent the women scrambling out of the room. He had forgotten the heavily shrouded person who had brought him here. The mysterious escort came to the foot of the chaise. Leaving the scarf over her head and face, she methodically bared her slender body. Her hands massaged her small breasts, twisting her pink nipples until they hardened. She then let her hands roam seductively down her body and between her thighs.

Nick was going crazy watching her. Just when he was about to go to the woman, Tarla removed the head covering and shook her long hair free.

With the sleekness of a tigress, she climbed over his body, trapping his thighs between her own. She pressed herself against him, holding him still while she rubbed her core along his oiled length. When she could no longer tolerate her own delaying tactics, she firmly impaled herself on him and rode her stud with wild abandon until she brought about her own climax.

Nick's orgasm burst forth a heartbeat later, forever spoiling him for anything less exciting or satisfying in his future. Only when they had each enjoyed the aftershocks of their passion did Tarla lie beside him and let him return the pleasure she had granted him. Kissing and touching took the place of words between them.

When morning came and they were still together, Nick willingly accepted Tarla's explanation that it was all meant to be.

Chapter 9

Victor calculated how many meals he had eaten. Assuming he was being fed on a regular basis, it was the only way he could mark the passing of time. Night and day did not exist for him as his sleep was constantly disrupted so that he could be interrogated, psychoanalyzed and tested physically and mentally in no particular order. Annoying? Fuck, yes. Abusive?
Mielda
! He could teach these clowns a few things about getting a man to talk.

His years spent getting around the legal system had trained him to behave remorsefully in front of law enforcement authorities and to say whatever the shrinks wanted to hear to convince them he was a victim of a terrible childhood. He knew how to make humility eke from his pores.

After the second session under the bright light, he had recognized its tranquilizing effects. During the treatments that followed, Victor had remained outwardly submissive while concentrating on multiplication tables to keep his brain alert.

He was no strung-out doper, like Pete. He liked coke, but he didn't need it. During this past week he had noticed the last traces of craving had disappeared but he remembered the feeling, the incredible high he could reach with the white powder. He didn't want to face the future in a place where such highs did not exist.

Again and again he had asked himself what went wrong with the hijacking and was now convinced that it was not his fault that it had failed.

It was hers. The bitch with the big
basura
. Everything had been planned down to the last detail. Having the two young broads on board had simply thrown off his timing. He had taken care of the little brunette and he should have taken a piece out of the other one right away, gotten her out of his system. Then everything would have been fine. But he hadn't and once he got out of here, he would find her. Then she would make it up to him somehow.

His guard, a seven-foot-tall side of beef, interrupted Victor's plans for revenge with a summons to the chief warden's office. Taking a moment to assume his humble persona, he fell into step behind the giant.

A scrawny, gray-haired man of indeterminate age awaited Victor. His flat expression and piercing black eyes revealed a suspicious nature.

"My name is Zenton and I am Chief Warden of this Rehabilitation Clinic. Your file contains encouraging reports from your counselors. You have convinced them of your desire to improve your behavior to a more socially acceptable standard. This willingness to adapt, along with your obvious remorse, weighed heavily in the decision reached by the Rehabilitation Board this morning."

What Zenton did not say was that the prisoner's superior intelligence was the additional factor that had tipped the scales against further treatments. Due to the Noronians' deep respect for natural genius, every possible avenue for rehabilitation was to be pursued before resorting to reprogramming Victor.

Zenton failed to rid himself of his nagging doubts about this case. It was not a matter of his being prejudiced against the Outerworlder, as the Board implied. A student of the criminal mind and penal systems of other civilizations, Zenton was convinced they were dealing with a sociopathic personality. The Board flatly rejected his recommendation to read the man's thoughts once more before releasing him. In Zenton's opinion, their objection was carrying the right to privacy much too far.

"You watched the orientation the first day you were here, so you know what is expected of you."

Victor bobbed his head. He remembered the show well enough. "I mean no disrespect, sir, but I found that video pretty hard to believe."

"It is not my responsibility to convince you that what you heard is true," the warden answered. "Once you leave this clinic, your own eyes and ears will do that for you. My function today is to explain the terms of your release."

At the suggestion of freedom, Victor's complacency slipped.

"It has been decided to permit you to leave here. Your guard will escort you to Car-Tem Province and remain with you for a time. If you choose not to conduct yourself according to our laws, your case will be reconsidered. We have the power to force your rehabilitation. Therefore, it is to your advantage to take the initiative."

Victor tried to look as meek as possible. "I understand, sir, and believe me, I am very grateful for the opportunity to prove myself. I would like to ask one question though."

Zenton was not deceived by the man's act. "What is it?"

"What about José? Will he be coming with me?"

"No. He was judged incorrigible and could not be rehabilitated sufficiently as he was."

"Well, what happens to him then? Does he stay locked up?"

"Locked up? Certainly not. That would be unproductive. It is more efficient to alter the individual to fit into society rather than the other way around. Here is your manual. I suggest you study it during the trip to Car-Tem." He picked up a file and swiveled his chair around, presenting his back to Victor. The interview was over.

Victor snorted then covered it with a sneeze. Accepting his unspoken dismissal, he casually sauntered into the hallway where the giant waited.

As they turned down a corridor, Victor spotted a familiar figure walking ahead of him. "José!" He ran to catch up to his friend then grabbed his shoulder. Lifeless eyes in a stranger's face turned mechanically to his.

"I am sorry. Were you calling me?" It was José's voice, but he was speaking perfect English in a halting monotone.

Victor was stunned. He had no idea how it had been accomplished but this man was José. Yet he was not.
Mielda
! He had to get out of this place!

The guard motioned for him to resume their exit from the building. Victor was so shaken by the encounter that he was outside for several seconds before realizing that he truly was a free man.

As he boarded the peculiar wheel-less vehicle, Victor scanned the vast gray desert around them. A bright orange sun was surrounded by a white ring and looked bigger than it should. By the time they reached a glittering city and his caretaker demonstrated the marvels of his temporary apartment, Victor gave up all previous notions that he was still in the United States.

* * *

Edward read the file on his next appointment, another new arrival. His curiosity mounted as he absorbed the information regarding Victor's criminal background. To his knowledge, there had never been an attempt to integrate an Outerworlder with such primitive tendencies without reprogramming. He felt a tremor of anticipation.

The counselor understood intimately how someone could be compelled to commit violence, even be excited by it. Since such aggression was unacceptable however, he had to conceal that difference between himself and those who had no such urge, the perfect people... like Chief Administrator Romulus.