Trickster (22 page)

 
Tonight
, she decided.
I'll have him tonight
.

 
The crowd around the gladiator pit was easily two hundred strong. About half were human. The heavy metallic scent of blood mixed with smells of fried food and spilled alcohol. Bodies pressed around the railing to get a better look at the fight below, but no one seemed to mind the crush. Elena took her eyes off the man long enough to watch the end of the fight. The tank shoved the wolf beneath the weight, triggering a sensor. The weight dropped with a crash, squashing the wolf flat. The crunch sent a thrill through Elena's blood and elicited another roar from the crowd. The man yelled again and leaped back from the railing. His elbow hit Elena's arm, and her martini drenched the front of her outfit in cold gin. She gave a yelp of indignation and brushed frantically at herself.

 
"Oh hell," the man said over the noisy crowd. "Geez, I'm sorry, ma'am."

 
Attraction turned to annoyance. "Idiot," she snapped. "Why don't you watch what you're doing?"

 
In the pit below, the tank skittered triumphant circles around the pit clutching the furry arm of its flattened adversary. The weight rose, revealing pulped remains, and a cleanup crew moved purposefully toward them. The crowd noise subsided into conversation and several people headed back toward the betting area to cash in winnings.

 
"You should go to the bar and have that taken care of," the man said. "Let me help you. Please?"

 
Elena's anger abated somewhat at his meek tone. She had, after all, been looking for an excuse to talk to him, and he had literally dropped one on her.

 
The man solicitously took her elbow. She glared at him to let him know all was not forgiven, but allowed him to lead her through an open archway behind the crowd and into the restaurant-bar. The man got the barkeeper's attention and gestured at the spreading stain on the Elena's dress.

 
"Cleanup, please?" he said. "And then get this lady anything she wants."

 
"You got it." The bartender, an enormously tall man with biceps big as footballs, caught up a spray bottle, leaned over the bar, and expertly misted the stain. It lightened, then vanished entirely. Elena's dress was perfectly dry. "What are you drinking, ma'am?"

 
"Oak and Ash," she said pointedly.

 
The man gave a small, embarrassed laugh. "Thirty-year-old scotch. I'm that bad, am I? Look, I really am sorry. Can I buy you more than a drink? Something to eat, maybe?" A wide smile spread across his face, one that made him look endearingly boyish. God, he was gorgeous.

 
"All right," she said in much nicer tone. "Dinner."

 
Elena caught up her new drink and swept toward an empty booth without looking to see if he was following her. She was already seated by the time he caught up with her and slid into the opposite seat.

 
"I'm Devin Reap," he said, extending his hand across the table.

 
"Elena Papagos-Faye." Her handshake was firm, and she pressed his hand a little longer than was necessary. Devin met her eyes with a meek little smile, then looked shyly away. Well. Gorgeous
and
pliable.

 
The restaurant kept the lights low. Its tables and booths were of dark, scarred wood. Gritty sawdust mixed with peanut shells underfoot, and a small tin pail of unshelled peanuts sat in the middle of the table. An pair of old-fashioned glass screens displayed the menu where the table met the wall. Another cheer went up from the crowd at the fighting pit beyond the arch, and Elena assumed another contest had begun.

 
"I really am sorry about the spill, Ms. Papagos-Faye," Devin said.

 
"It cleaned up just fine, Devin," she said. "Though I think I'm still in the mood for something expensive."

 
A pained look crossed Devin's his face. "Not too expensive, I hope. I've had a run of bad luck with the gladiators lately."

 
"Oh? The way you were cheering in there, I thought you must have won."

 
"Not really. I was yelling at the loser because he let himself get squashed. What would you like for dinner?"

 
They leaned over the menu screen and Elena purposefully brushed her hand against Devin's. He blushed--actually
blushed
--and then casually moved his hand away. Elena burned with desire. She would have this Devin and she would definitely have him tonight.

 
Elena ordered first--prime rib, the second most expensive item on the menu--and Devin tapped in his own order--simple baked chicken.

 
"Do you bet much on the gladiators?" he asked.

 
"Not unless I know it's a sure thing," Elena replied. "And how often does that happen?"

 
Devin smiled. "Not often enough. So what do you do for a living?"

 
"I'm a department head for a special project within SA." She made circles with her glass on the table and looked at Devin through her eyelashes. "Very hush-hush. You?"

 
"Accountant, but I'm an independent contractor."

 
How boring
. "Lucky you."

 
Ben shrugged. "Pay's lower, but yeah--SA doesn't have its claws in me."

 
"Does anyone else have their claws in you?" she asked with small smile of her own.

 
Devin looked self-consciously down at his hands. "Not right now. You?"

 
"I prefer to put my claws into other people."

 
Their food arrived, and the inevitable small talk began. Elena found numerous reasons to touch Devin's hand or forearm during the meal. Twice her foot "accidentally" brushed his under the table. After the second or third time, Devin stopped pulling back, but the endearing blush that made her want to pull his clothes off him then and there continued to surface.

 
Around them, patrons of various species came and went. Regular shouts of triumph and groans of despair came from the arena. The table offered a tiny holographic display of the fights, and several times Devin looked longingly at the controls, but Elena deliberately didn't pick up on the hint and he didn't say anything. Good.

 
Throughout their meal, she let slip a few hints about the Collection. Nothing that would get her into trouble, but enough to impress a little contract accountant whose yearly fee was probably less than what Elena made in ten minutes. She imagined him living in a hole-in-the-wall apartment with three room-mates so he could spend his money on clothes and bet on genegineered gladiators.

 
"So exactly what's this project about?" Devin asked, leaning forward in fascination. "Sounds like it's big-time stuff."

 
"Top secret, I'm afraid," she said with a knowing wink. "But it's big. When it finishes, you'll be hearing about it in every corner of the universe. I guarantee it."

 
He pressed for more details like a puppy looking for attention. She allowed it until she grew tired of evasive answers and cut off further questions with a sharp retort. He immediately fell into a docile silence and Elena changed the subject. Eventually, the meal ended and Devin, once more apologizing about her dress, paid the check.

 
"Why don't you come back to my place for a drink?" she said, knowing what the answer would be. Already she could imagine what it would be like to have him lying beneath her, to run her hands over that hard frame, listen to him moan and beg for the release that she would give only when she was ready for him to have it.

 
"Oh, geez, thanks, but I . . . I can't."

 
Elena stared. "You can't," she repeated, stupefied.

 
"I had a great time, though," Devin said, rising quickly from the table and handing her a small datachip. "Here's a com-link code where you can reach me. I hope you'll call. I'd really like to see you again."

 
And then he was gone.

 
Elena stared after him in a disbelief laced with a dollop of avarice.
No
one turned her down. Not the men she chose, not Silent Acquisitions, not even Edsard Roon. Not only would Devin Reap beg to come to her bed, he would become enamored of her, fall in love with her. And then, just to show him who was in charge, she would toss him aside.

 
Elena Papagos-Faye pulled out her data pad, activated the holographic screen, and started a background check on Devin Reap.

 
"Come on, you can't keep me here forever," Todd lamented.

 
"You know, Isaac, the beauty of that statement is not only that it is false, but that you so clearly
know
it is false," Harenn replied. "I can do anything to you I like. I can hang you upside-down from the ceiling and make a thousand little cuts all over your body that will kill you only after many hours of bleeding. I can give you drugs that will drag every darkness from your head and make each one real for you. I can hire a gang of men to come into this room and beat you and rape you until you wish you had died. All these things I can do, and there is nothing you can do to stop me."

 
Todd abruptly lunged for Harenn, but the moment he came within a meter of her body, his silvery slave bands snapped and sparked with a blue glow. Todd fell to his knees, moaning in pain. Harenn watched impassively until, gasping, he got to his feet and backed away from her. The
Poltergeist
had no brig, so Kendi had put him in a set of windowless quarters that Ben and Lucia had gone over. There was nothing in the little room that Todd could use to communicate with anyone outside the ship. He had no computer access, and Lucia had installed extra-stubborn locks on the door. Todd's slave bands were programmed to shock him if he crossed the threshold or approached any member of the crew too closely. His only entertainment was a set of bookdisks. Harenn knew she should leave him alone, that solitary confinement was a terrible punishment in and of itself, but Isaac Todd was like a bad tooth. She couldn't help probing it, even though it caused her pain.

 
"You're a vindictive bitch," he spat.

 
"You made me into one, Isaac," Harenn said. She was leaning with her back against the door. "You taught me that not even love can be trusted, that anything and everything you have can be taken away at a single stroke. You taught me not to trust my own judgement. You taught me that pain and sorrow can come from any direction, even from someone who loves you. And now you are reaping the benefits of my lessons. Does that not make you happy?"

 
"So you just come in here to torture me?" Todd plunked down onto the tiny room's only chair. "I wonder if Bedj-ka would like seeing this side of his mother."

 
Harenn took a step toward Todd, and he scrambled out of the chair so he could back away.

 
"Ever the manipulator," she said. "Still trying to make me question myself. Still trying to make me miserable."

 
"Listen, Harenn," Todd said, holding up his hands in a gesture of placation, "I never set out to hurt you. It was just a business thing, nothing personal. Besides, it's not like you'd had Bedj-ka long enough to form a real attachment or anything."

 
Harenn's eyes flashed. "Which do you like better, Isaac, bread or cheese?"

 
"Why?" he asked warily.

 
"Because for the next several days you are going to have only those two things to eat, and a random one of them will contain a powerful emetic. Choose wisely which you consume, my husband. If you choose wrong, the results will be entertaining."

 
With that, she turned and left the room. Gretchen was standing in the corridor outside.

 
"I overheard part of that," she said, falling into step beside Harenn. "It's not healthy, you know."

 
Harenn bristled. "Are you going to tell me how to run my life?"

 
"I didn't say you shouldn't do it," Gretchen said with a wolfish grin. "Everyone needs bad habits. After seeing the L. L. Venus farm, though, I've lost my chocolate vice. Maybe I can pick up a new one torturing prisoners. Need any help?"

 
Harenn looked at Gretchen, uncertain whether the other woman was joking or not. "No, thank you," she said at last.

 
"So what
are
we going to do with him, anyway?" Gretchen asked. They were heading toward the galley. "No matter what you might want, we can't shove him out an airlock, and it'd be a royal pain in the ass to keep him around forever."

 
"I have given the matter little thought," Harenn said. "I have the impression Kendi has something in mind, but he will not say what."

 
"Have you told Bedj-ka who he is?"

 
Harenn shook her head. "And I don't know if I will. What good would it do him?"

 
"He may find out on his own."

 
"Not if I can prevent it."

 
Father Kendi Weaver stared at the holographic display above his data pad without really seeing it. He knew it was pointless to worry about things which were beyond his control, but he couldn't help it. He worried about what was happening to Utang and Martina. He worried about running out of time. He worried about Silent Acquisitions discovering the team's connection with the Children. He worried about the Children of Irfan fading away. And through it all, he had to keep a calm demeanor.

 
Kendi wasn't used to keeping his emotions under control, except when he was trancing for the Dream or playing a role during a rescue mission. The people around him usually knew when he was angry or happy, frustrated or joyful, and that was fine with Kendi. It was a trait that sometimes exasperated Ara, who often said that while forthrightness was indeed a virtue, tact and subtlety had their places as well. She had held up Irfan Qasad's famed serenity as an example. But Kendi had still preferred to wear his heart on his sleeve.