Mirror Space (Sentients of Orion) Page 13

  ‘Perhaps it’s what you secretly want, Thales. To be commanded. We could explore that idea.’

  Thales wasn’t sure how to reply to that. ‘Just a few hours ago I found my... partner with...’ He could not finish. ‘Tell me Aleta, what pleasure can be gained from pain?’

  She smiled so serenely that it might have been that he’d asked her to meditate with him. ‘Given the right conditions, the two are as one. Perhaps I can show you?’

  He shook his head. A light sweat broke over his skin. That was not what he’d meant. But why had he told this beautiful stranger so much about himself? More than he’d told Bethany even? He had refused the disinhibitor, and yet words sprang to his lips as if he were a gauche and ingenuous teenager.

  The drink! He stared at the empty tube. I should leave, he thought, and stood.

  ‘Wait!’ she ordered him.

  Her imperious tone overcame his volition and his legs folded underneath him. He stared across at her.

  The light flickered for an instant, and the plain blue room was superseded by an authentic reproduction of his bedroom on Scolar. Aleta lay on a bed in the centre of the room, where the platform had been.

  Thales sat riveted to his chair fighting a wave of emotion. ‘Y-your virtual artistry is commendable.’

  ‘It is the best there is, Thales. Come here!’ She flicked her hair. It seemed longer, as long as Rene’s, and her face seemed to have aged a little. It now showed the fine, beautiful lines of a well-kept older woman. Her beautiful body lay draped in the soft fabric of her attire, which accentuated her hips and caught between her thighs.

  He sprang from his chair and approached her. ‘How did you do that?’ he demanded hoarsely. ‘How did you make yourself look like my wife?’

  ‘It is part of the service—understanding what you want most and capturing it.’

  ‘What do you mean by “capturing”?’

  ‘It is obvious that you miss your wife, Thales, in many ways; her love, her interest in you, but mostly you miss her firm hand. She’s not just your guide, Thales, she is your Commander. Your Goddess.’

  ‘No. That’s... ridiculous. We are equals... were equals, at least.’

  Aleta pulled the fabric down from her shoulders, revealing smooth breasts that lay heavily on her chest; larger breasts than Rene’s.

  Thales had longed at times for Rene’s breasts to grow with the fullness of pregnancy, but she had never shown interest in such an idea.

  He wetted his lips, unable to tear his eyes from her; so like his wife and yet almost... more desirable. He tried to reject the notion, but Aleta sat up straight, her expression stern.

  ‘Remove your clothes, Thales.’ The tone of her voice spoke to something deep inside him. Not his conscious or rational self, but the child who needed direction.

  He stripped obediently out of his borrowed pants and shirt and stood trembling.

  She looked him over. ‘Sweet and youthful,’ she remarked, as if to herself. ‘How lovely.’ She slid to the edge of the bed and placed her feet on the floor. ‘Kneel.’

  He dropped between her knees overwhelmed by an eagerness to please her and the need to rest his face against her thighs. The gown barely covered her womanly parts and he breathed her scent. She tugged strands of his hair, murmuring instructions to him and the order in which they would proceed.

  His head swirled with anticipation and the stimulation of gentle pain.

  Rene had always been directive in their lovemaking, but in a restrained and modest manner. She had never aroused him through talk of what would come.

  ‘It is important,’ said Aleta, ‘that from now until our time together is over, you call me Mistress or Goddess. Do you understand, Thales?’

  ‘Yes... Mistress.’ He felt neither foolish nor self-aware. Aleta was as she said, and the relief of acceptance was exquisite.

  ‘Have you been bound before, sweet boy?’

  His heart thumped painfully and his throat closed. ‘Not for pleasure, M-Mistress,’ he managed.

  ‘Then your training has been neglected.’ She pulled his face from her lap and looked deeply into his eyes. They were so like his wife’s, dark and flecked with character, and yet where he would have seen intelligence and sadness in Rene, Aleta’s eyes reflected strength and confidence. She would have what she wanted from him, and he would give it willingly.

  ‘Lie on the bed,’ she said.

  He did as she asked, marvelling at the softness of the covers and how long it had been since he’d felt luxury. On board The Last Aesthetic he’d been too ill to enjoy the fine furnishings.

  She slid off the bed and walked around behind his head. Without warning she grasped both of his hands and stretched his arms out. Thales felt something snake around his wrists. He strained to see it.

  ‘The restraints are safe and well-maintained,’ she said, in matter-of-fact terms that soothed his alarm. ‘You need only request it and they will be removed.’

  He nodded, not daring to speak.

  She glided around to the foot of the bed, where she repeated the process, spreading his legs wide and securing his ankles.

  Satisfied, she lifted her negligee over her head and tossed it aside. A small triangle of material still covered her hairless pubis, and her hair flowed almost long enough to cover her breasts.

  She climbed onto the bed and knelt beside him. Taking her time she looked closely at his body. Her fingers began to play lightly over his skin as she examined the contours and hollows. He had never been scrutinised in such a way, and her boldness set his body aflame.

  Suddenly, she swung one leg astride his abdomen. Then, with deliberate care, she lifted one heavy breast and placed the swollen nipple close to his mouth. ‘We will begin with simple obedience tasks. You will do exactly as I say, the instant I say it. With each failure, Thales, you will receive discipline. Now, open your mouth.’

  He did so.

  She placed her nipple inside and he instinctively closed his lips around it, sucking in its flavour and texture.

  A moment later pain lit across his legs and groin, making him jerk like a puppet. Aleta sat up, letting her breast swing free, and lifted her free hand before his face, administering tiny electric shocks from the cylindrical device with the other.

  ‘I did not tell you to do more than open your mouth. Are you not able to take simple instructions? If not, then you shall receive punishment from this.’

  Despite the receding pain and his general discomfort, her tone excited him beyond belief.

  ‘I-I didn’t understand what you w-wanted,’ he stuttered.

  She took his nipple between her nails and pinched it hard. ‘What is the correct response?’

  His mind froze for a minute, confused by the conflicting sensations. ‘I mean, I’m s-sorry M-Mistress.’

  ‘Better.’ She released his tender flesh and stroked his cheek. ‘Now, we will begin again. Open your mouth.’

  She lifted her breast again and positioned the nipple between his lips.

  He kept his mouth open, lips drawn back for so long that his jaw began to ache and then quiver.

  ‘You may suck it now,’ she said finally.

  Gratefully, he let his lips close. The comfort from the taste of her overwhelmed him. He wanted to thank her but dared not stop without her permission.

  ‘Harder,’ she said.

  And then the muscle ache of holding his jaw open was replaced with the muscle ache of sucking.

  ‘Stop. Release me.’

  He did as he was told.

  She moved her body so that her eyes came close to his. Her pupils were dilated with arousal and he felt glad that he’d pleased her.

  ‘Better, Thales. Now, let us progress.’

  After that, he lost track of time. The erotically painful sensations she inflicted upon him began to take over his mind. He sank deeper and deeper into a world of his own until nothing existed other than the stimulation that drowned his body in its own endorphins.

  He flinch
ed when Aleta first took her glass-handled whip to his thighs and arms but within a few strokes the hurting became a pleasure he could hardly bear.

  She chose that moment to stop and sit astride his thighs. With confident movements she began to ride him, whipping across his legs with one hand and administering tiny electric shocks with the other.

  The combination sent him towards climax but she saw, and slowed, speaking sternly to him again.

  ‘Control yourself, young man. You will wait until you are told.’

  He heard her and tried valiantly to obey her, but the pressure in his groin had built beyond anything he had ever felt before. With shouts of ecstasy, he thrust upward into her, only dimly aware of her satisfied smile.

  Afterwards, she released his bonds and lay next to him. Thales rolled on his side, curling against her. He had never felt such peace. Never been so whole. His body felt awash with happiness.

  Aleta lay with him for a time in silence. Then, as if an internal timer had alerted her, she got up and slipped on her gown.

  ‘You are permitted some extra time to wash and dress. The valet will see you out. Please feel free to recommend my services,’ she said.

  Thales sat up. ‘Aleta,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Please... I must see you again.’

  She smiled, soft and gracious. ‘That would be lovely, Thales. But be warned, I am very expensive.’

  ‘No... I mean... outside this...’ He waved his hands, not knowing how to express himself.

  The sweetness left her face, and her expression hardened. She clicked her fingers and the doorman appeared so quickly that Thales wondered if he’d been in the room somewhere.

  In the moments that it took him to locate his clothes on the floor, Aleta had gone.

  The doorman folded his arms. ‘You have six minutes remaining. If you exceed the time limit, you will be charged.’

  Embarrassed and angry, Thales quickly pulled his clothes on.

  The valet showed him back along the arcing corridor and out into the first waiting room, where a fresh load of clients waited with anticipation.

  Aleta entered through another door.

  He raised his hand in greeting but she walked past him without acknowledgement—without noticing him at all—and approached an older man with thick features and only a little hair.

  She knelt before the man and laid her cheek against his knee in the way she had schooled Thales to do only a short time before.

  Unable to contain his disgust, Thales walked out the door.

  TEKTON

  The Lamin did not offer to help Tekton from the floor. In fact it had already seated itself and was grooming its armpits.

  Tekton got to his feet, drawing on a lifetime of aplomb to preserve his dignity. Not that anyone was watching him. In fact the Lamin and he were the only ones in the unimposing, strangely appointed prayer room.

  Tekton looked around.

  It was not a spiritually imbued place, in the manner of the millions of chapels spread across Orion, and neither did it have the usual other-worldly sense of quiet and eeriness. The decor suited a comfortable lounge that might be found on any moderately luxurious passenger ship. In fact, if not for the different colour schemes and unusual icons impregnating the suede walls, it could have been an exact replica of a lounge on The Last Aesthetic. Perhaps the whole room had been retrieved from a disbanded passenger ship?

  Two long bench seats ran the length of the room divided by an equally long, low table which ended in front of a shrine. Ledges were inset into the padded walls behind the seats, and dotted with statues and objets d’art; almost as if the icons were set there to peer over the shoulders of those that sat reclining. Beautifully crafted melon-coloured matting softened the floor beneath his feet.

  Tekton made his way past the Lamin to sit at the far end of one bench seat, near the shrine. The simply moulded, geometric shrine alcove housed a square black box. He bent his head and went through the pretence of prayer while he gave the box a subtle but intense scrutiny.

  Despite his best efforts, he deduced absolutely nothing from it—why would Farr worship a box?—and widened his observation to include the rest of the room. For the most part, the furnishings seemed wholly at odds with Farr’s personality: far too comfortable and culturally opulent.

  And yet, Tekton knew that somewhere in here lay a clue to Farr’s raison d’être. The man was deceptive. Everything about his nature, including his choice to live on the floating surface of this constructed monstrosity called Edo, bespoke his desire to mislead.

  Farr had played a spiteful mind game lending Tekton along that dangerous route here, and in mind games the player always left clues.

  What secrets lurked within this odd prayer room?

  Abandoning his discretion, he got up from the seat and walked a slow circuit, examining every fixed and hanging object: an eclectic mix that included a Trimium fertility goddess that looked to be sculpted from dried mucus, and a Rainbow Orbital blossoming and fading in a never-ending sequence. Tekton noted the combination of organic and astrophysical artworks.

  Curious.

  While he conducted his examinations, the Lamin stayed in its seat, sitting bolt upright, with knees primly crossed.

  Tekton imagined it was reporting back to Farr via the mayordomo, moud or some other subvocal conduit. That notion didn’t faze him. Farr wanted Tekton to play the game, or he would never have allowed him access to his private chapel.

  Godhead, interrupted his moud, you are required at the departure dock shortly.

  Hooray! crowed his free-mind. Let’s go home.

  Tekton was inclined to follow free-mind’s lead. The prayer space, which he’d expected to be lofty and grand, had turned out to be oppressive—and sinister.

  Sinister? queried logic-mind. How so?

  Free-mind sought another manner of description. It’s creepy. Let’s go.

  But logic-mind became stubborn. No. Find the clue first. This is important.

  But Tekton was still siding with free-mind. Edo had become as tiresome—and if he admitted the truth, as alarming—as Commander Farr. His earlier akula rush at the ever-present sense of danger that surrounded Farr had truly begun to fade. The man was insane.

  He approached the Lamin. ‘I require a taxi to convey me to the departure lounge.’

  The Lamin took a moment to reply while it checked in with its employer.

  ‘Commander Farr is delighted to provide transport for you to the docks. He conveys his wishes for your speedy return to Belle-Monde. His associate there tells him the food is very good.’

  His associate? ‘And who would that be?’ asked Tekton sharply.

  ‘That is all the Commander wishes to say to you.’

  Tekton wanted to spit with rage. Farr was taunting him with obscure hints. ‘Call the taxi now. I wish to leave immediately.’

  The Lamin stood up and pattered towards the exit, where it cracked the door open and peered out. ‘I will inform you when it has arrived.’

  Tekton nodded. He took one last sweep of the room, compartmentalising his anger so he could observe through dispassionate eyes. His gaze lingered on the shrine. What in Sole’s name was significant about a black box? Was it a projector, perhaps? Or a Babushka? Or even a compression chamber of sorts?

  ‘Lamin?’ he said imperiously. ‘How do you activate the shrine?’

  The Lamin hesitated. ‘Commander Farr says that with your intellect you should be able to work that out.’

  Tekton wanted to gnash his teeth with frustration. So that’s what this was, a game of superior intellect. Tekton hated to lose at anything; a family trait that his cousin Ra had taken to the worst of extremes. It seemed that Commander Farr enjoyed the same competitive attribute. His free-mind took a moment to consider Ra and Commander Farr. Their collective competitive natures gave Tekton a shiver.

  Concentrate! barked logic-mind.

  Tekton tried to broaden his perception of the box in relation to the figurines. It bore no comparison to t
he organics, but it was not unlike the Rainbow Orbital, which grew and faded over the top of its projector casing.

  If the black box was also a projector of sorts, then it would likely need aural or kinaesthetic activation.

  Aural, said logic-mind.

  Tekton thought back over his most recent conversation with the Commander. Farr had emphasised several things. If he had more time, he could ask his moud to replay the entire conversation, but as it was...

  ‘Visiting Lostol, your taxi is here.’

  ‘Tell it to wait a moment.’

  ‘Detrivores are very active at present. The taxi will not be able to stay grounded for too long.’

  ‘Just a few damn minutes,’ snapped Tekton. Moud, search my last conversation with Commander Farr. Replay any verbal emphasis.

  Yes, Godhead.

  Tekton listened intently then chose one word of the twenty search items. ‘Shame.’

  The black box remained inanimate.

  ‘Visiting Lostol, the taxi has detected a circling detrivore. It must leave.’

  ‘Why? There’s no driver, is there?’

  ‘Taxis’ have a proximity detector. Detrivores have been known to try and eat them. It is very costly.’

  ‘Costly!’ snapped Tekton. He walked quickly towards the door, listening as his moud repeated the list of Farr’s emphasised words. When he peered out, the taxi was beginning to lift.

  ‘Stop it!’ he roared.

  ‘I will try,’ sniffed the Lamin. ‘It is centrally programmed.’

  A word from the moud’s list jumped out at him, as Tekton gave one last glance into the chapel.

  Balance. It seemed right, somehow. ‘Balance!’ he shouted.

  Across the room in the shrine, an image sprang alive inside the box, in what he’d thought to be a solid interior. From where he stood it looked like a swirl of colour—nothing more.

  Capture that image, he ordered his moud.

  Yes, Godhead. It is captured.

  Tekton turned and ran the short distance across the platform to the taxi. He flung himself inside, banging his leg against the edge of the door. It tore a gash in his thin skin. Blood streamed from the wound as the taxi lifted and pitched wildly into the abyss.