Whose Body Is It, Anyway?             by: Brandy Dewinter

 

Chapter 10 - Enough!

The entourage that followed Herne said nothing as they entered the government building that, with its attached arena, had been the only part of Machovia that I had seen. The heaviness of the men’s tread seemed to be absorbed by the stone walls, leaving only the rapid-tap staccato of my heels to declare our passage. The direct route they used, as opposed to the trip by way of cleaning and feeding pens they had taken me along before, made the trip too short for my frantic mind to really absorb what was happening.

Again.

At the door to the Magistrate’s courtroom, Enforcers held back Eryx and his group, denying them entry.

"Herne, let us in!" he demanded.

"No one is allowed in the courtroom except those with official business," Herne gloated. "So, unless you are formally declaring yourself to be Xora’s Protector . . ?"

I wonder if a Protector is allowed to kiss one of his charges? Titania mused.

*Shut up!* I snarled.

*Oh, you were wondering the same thing,* Titania snickered.

I screamed into what had once been the privacy of my own mind, *I was NOT!*

Titania’s calm tones were even more infuriating when she said, *Don’t try to lie to your symbiont, dear.* Still, the truth behind her claim left me speechless, and too distracted to realize that Eryx, after a look at me, had allowed the door to be closed in his face.

My internal turmoil was interrupted by the court clerk’s sonorous announcement, "The case of the District versus Xora, Outlander, on a charge of violation of Ordinance 27-102-7!"

My escorts pulled me before the bench to once again face a gloating Herne.

"Well, Outlander, you just can’t seem to stay out of trouble, can you?" he asked amiably.

"I want to speak to the Federation counsel," I declared.

An instant of anger flared in Herne’s eyes, and he gripped his gavel like he was about to smash it down on his bench. But before he made any distinct motion, he visibly calmed himself, leaving only a residue of heat in his glinting eyes.

"Since this is the second time you have come before me, and within such a short time, you can be classified by our laws as a rebellious citizen," Herne warned me. "Any further outbursts and I will make that official. You don’t want that to happen."

I met his suppressed anger with barely controlled rage of my own, no repentance in my heart, none likely showing in my eyes, but no words on my lips.

This brought a look of amusement to the Magistrate’s expression, but for a moment he also said nothing. After a time that made it seem like he was savoring her anger, relishing it, he continued in official tones.

"Since it seems that the pleasant, exhilarating community service of the Games didn’t dissuade you from your lawless ways, something more stringent will be in order," he said, as though he were carefully considering alternatives. The continuing glint in his eyes said this was all sham, that his decision had already been made, but he played out the little drama for the record.

"Accordingly, you will be assigned to Public Works projects under the supervision of an officer of the court. When he reports that you have achieved a properly law-abiding attitude, you will be brought here again and the court will consider your release."

"With respect, Magistrate," I said, though my gritted teeth showed how little respect I truly held for the man, "do I understand that to mean that the length of my sentence is indeterminate?"

"I prefer to think that the length of your sentence is up to you," he replied smugly, then he lifted his gavel to rap the conclusion of his show trial. Before he did, though, he paused and another crafty grin showed through his beard.

"Oh, it has been reported to the court that you were left overnight in temporary holding restraints. The court officially regrets this and promises to take steps to prevent a repetition of this error. You will be taken immediately and placed in appropriate overnight restraints."

Then he rapped his gavel and the enforcers pulled me toward the cells.

*Does he regret that you were left hanging all night, or that it was reported?* Titania wondered.

*What do *you* think?* I replied, hoping that nothing bad would happen to Dela.

The enforcer led me to a different bank of cells than I had seen on my first imprisonment. These were smaller, clearly designed to hold individuals instead of a row of prisoners awaiting further disposition. The only furnishing, if that’s what it was, in the room was a slightly slanted metal post about the diameter of my (new) waist, from which a smaller rail extended more or less parallel to the floor and a foot or so above it.

"Sit there," the guard commanded, requiring me to awkwardly back down the smaller rail, straddling it with my legs while the hobble chain trailed along the floor underneath.

The rail was round, but even at the root it was only the diameter of my ankle, tapering a bit as it extended from the post. When I sat down on it, the shape forced itself up and between the globes of my ass, forcing me to rest my weight on a very uncomfortable part of my anatomy.

*I’ll take care of it,* Titania promised, before I could even form a mental complaint.

Bands were attached to my upper arms, then chained to smaller rods extending from the post at the appropriate height. Once my upper body was securely fastened to the post, my hammerlock cuffs were removed and my wrists were fastened in manacles rigidly set in stubs of metal extending from the post near the bottom.

*This is not going to be pleasant,* I observed dryly, but silently.

*Time to try something.*

I let my eyes droop so that my gaze peeked seductively from below my lashes, and arched my back enough to make my now-welcome bosom stand very noticeably forth above my tiny waist. When the guard’s eyes had flickered from this distraction to my face, I let a little flicker of tongue show against my lips and purred, "I’m very rich, you know. If you were to help me get back to my ship, I’d make it worth your while. Very much worth your while. You could name your own . . . reward."

The flush that lit the cheeks of the guard showed my offer had certainly got his attention, but he said nothing. Additional manacles, these chained to the horizontal rail near the far end, were placed around my ankles and the hobble chain was removed. The new chains were just short enough to keep me from resting my feet on the floor.

"Surely there’s *something* I could do to make you want to help me," I tried again, even throatier, even more blatantly inviting.

"Prisoners are not allowed to speak unless in response to a direct question," the guard quoted, then produced a white ball on a leather strap from his pocket. This was forced between my teeth and then fastened behind my neck.

 *Well, so much for bribing a guard,* Titania chuckled.

*This is *not* funny,* I snapped, trying unsuccessfully to force the repellent object from my mouth.

*Oh, be patient. As soon as he leaves, I can get rid of that thing.* Titania promised.

*Yeah, and then what happens when someone else comes to check on us?*

*Ah,* Titania mused, *I hadn’t thought of that. I can display a false replacement, but hiding the real one would be a problem.*

The clank of the cell door, leaving us in dimness relieved only by a small square of light from an opening in the cell door, cut off our conversation for a moment.

As the steps of the guard faded down the corridor, I was trying to shift on the narrow rail.

*This thing is terrible!* I moaned. *Just a few minutes and it’s already hurting my, well, it’s hurting.*

*Oh, yes, I’ll take care of that now.* Titania replied, and in a few seconds I felt my weight being supported by a broad pad rather than the narrow rail.

I leaned back on the post and realized it was more of the same. The round shape refused to support my back unless I was directly centered on it, but in that condition the post put painful pressure on my spine. There was no way to support any of my weight, except directly on the small area between my legs.

*Okay, I’ve had enough!* I declared, though the strength of my declaration was undermined by its silence. *So much for a passive observation mission. From now on, anything goes to get us out of here, even if we have to hurt someone. Maybe the hammerlock cuffs are justifiable; they certainly are effective. But leaving a prisoner in them overnight is cruel, and doing it carelessly is no excuse. And *this* thing. If someone had tried to design a more uncomfortable seat, without actually causing immediate injury, well, I can’t imagine what else they could do. This is cruel, deliberately, and maliciously. We need to get out of here and report.*

*Fine,* Titania agreed. *And just how do you intend to do that?*

I sighed, then made a hopeless wish, *I would have been nice if we had received the standard field agent training. How are you at picking locks?*

Titania’s confusion was evident in her voice even before she asked, *What is that?*

*Oh, damn,* I sighed again.

"I’m sorry, Xora. I didn’t know you were going to count on me for some special skill." apologized Titania, her dismay at possibly letting her partner down obvious in her voice.

*No, that’s all right, Ti. It’s my fault. I’m the one who’s supposed to know about tools. It’s okay, we can start now. We certainly have plenty of locks to practice on.*

I proceeded to give Titania a crash course in the theory of locks, aided by Titania’s ability to send tendrils into the interior of the locks and "feel" her way around. We lost track of time (not that we were going anywhere, at least, not until we got the locks undone anyway), and were surprised when the lock on the steel door to their cell started to rattle. Titania quickly withdrew her probes from the locks, grateful that she hadn’t actually unlocked anything yet, and I tried to act as naturally as any other prisoner in my cruel straits.

Magistrate Herne himself walked in, motioning the guard at the door to lock it, leaving him alone with his lovely prisoner, me.

"So, my dear, do you find your new quarters more comfortable than the ones you enjoyed last night?"

I just glared at him, though my fierce gaze merely made his grin widen.

"No complaints, hmmm?" he chuckled. "Actually, this is one of my favorite little inventions. The approved chair, or perhaps I should say the previously-approved chair was actually quite comfortable, with a reasonably wide back and a padded base. When I appealed to the Sector Council for approval of my modification, I merely asked if I might round off the parts of the device, "In order to reduce any potential for injury" of course. They’ve never found out just how much I "rounded" things. Now I find it quite - yes, I’ll admit it - arousing to think of a woman’s so delicate, um, prize being so, oh, firmly caressed. Would you believe that some women have actually had bleeding sores after only a single night?"

*This guy is sick!* I gulped, trying to keep from revealing the depth of my horror. That emotion would only feed his perversion. My partner picked up on my concern and I felt the tension fade from my muscles as whatever chemical soup Titania was producing worked to calm me.

The lack of concern on my features deprived Herne of a large part of the pleasure he craved, so he started in on further threats.

"Can you guess which "Public Works" you’re going to be assigned to?" he asked with a leer.

He paused just long enough to emphasize my inability to respond and then said, "It so happens that there is some work that needs to be done at . . (a deliberate pause for appropriately sinister effect) . . the estate belonging to the District Magistrate. Isn’t that interesting?"

Then he stepped forward and caught a handful of my hair, forcing me to look at him from a very close range. "I’m going to enjoy taking that pride you showed when I first saw you on the viewscreen, and turning it into submission. I’m going to enjoy it when you beg me to let you lick my feet, or anything else that suits my fancy. And after I’ve enjoyed you as much as I want, why, you’ll see why my Enforcers are so loyal to me. Their home barracks are on my estate!"

With this last revelation, he started laughing as he walked to the cell door, thumping on it. As it opened, he turned to me once again and said, "Oh, and as for your precious Federation counsel. He doesn’t even know you’re on the planet. And I can assure you, he never will."

This set him off into another bout of insane laughter, echoed first by the guard at the door, and then by the walls of the corridor as he strolled away.

*Well, that pretty much makes our options clear,* I thought.

At Titania’s silent question, I continued, *We break out of this place, doing whatever is necessary. Once we’re back to our ship, we at least know where that is, we’ll lift into orbit and scoot for home.*

With that plan we returned to the task of releasing the locks binding us to the post and rail. At least we had no trouble reaching any of them. Titania was able to send tendrils into each of the locks simultaneously. She couldn’t pick them all at the same time, her mental capacity was respectable, but broadly equivalent to mine. However, the ability to compare one lock against another was a tremendous help in understanding the nature of locks themselves, which aided a very steep learning curve.

Still, I estimated it was well into the deep hours of the night when we were finally free of the post. Only when the last lock clicked did Titania send a sharp-edged tendril to cut the hated gag. The locked cell door was yet another problem, though as I looked through the small window, I could see that the corridors were darkened for night except for a small light at some of the cells.

*Probably the occupied ones,* I mused. *Which means most are not occupied, so there probably aren’t all that many guards on the night shift.*

*That’s a pretty long chain of assumptions," Titania cautioned me, but the logic seemed as good as any. *So, do you want me to try and pick this lock, too? I could send a tendril out through the window and reach it.*

*I’m sure you could, but I don’t like the idea of having a guard walk up while one of your "fingers" is hanging down the outside of the cell.*

*What else do we do?*

I could feel the grin light my face even in the darkness as an idea came to me. *First, I think a bit darker color for our outfit is appropriate, and cover my legs, too.*

*I am covering your legs,* Titania assured me, then corrected herself.

*Oh, I know what you mean.*

I might have picked a slightly less glossy look, but the shimmery black that Titania used had a most interesting ability to almost disappear into the shadows. The shifting highlights of reflections kept my location from being unusually uniform in color. Giving my partner a mental pat on the back, I moved to the next phase of my escape plan.

By calling the guard.

"Hello! Is there anybody out there? I have to go to the bathroom!"

"Are you trying to get caught?" Titania whispered in horror.

I just smiled, waited a few minutes and called again.

"Please! I’ve been in here a long time!"

There wasn’t any response, so I decided to up the level of disturbance a little.

 "Can you make a hard covering for my fist?" I asked my symbiont.

"Sure, which one?"

I waved my left hand and soon found what appeared to be a solid lump of black metal extending from my wrist.

"I hope my fingers are still in there," I said, then started pounding on the cell door. It rang like a huge bell.

"There, that ought to get someone’s attention," I said.

Titania started to soften the covering over my fist, but I indicated I wanted to retain it a little longer. This time, there was definitely a response, with heavy steps clumping in our direction. Just before I expected to be able to see the guard, I called again.

"I *really* need to go to the bathroom!"

The guard rounded the corner and paused for just a moment as he tried to decide which of the cells was the source of the noise. A more alert guard might have wondered how one of the prisoners, all of whom were strictly bound even inside their cells, had managed to make so much noise. But the guards on duty in the wee hours were not likely to be the most alert in Herne’s private army, a fact which I counted on. This guard stuck his face in each cell door window as he passed, trying to decide who was causing the trouble. As he got closer I stood in the shadows near my own cell window, my steel fist cocked and ready. When the light through the window dimmed as the guard’s head obscured the small bulb, my fist introduced his nose to the back of his neck.

"Uggh," I said as I looked at the goo on my hand. "I didn’t think it would be quite this messy."

Titania obligingly cleaned off our hand even as a tendril was snaking down to get the keys from the guard. In seconds we were out. I stopped to take the guard’s sidearm in case we met any further opposition.

We flowed through the shadows like a softly drifting mist, soundless, thanks to a further bit of Titania’s magic, and almost invisible when we weren’t directly under a light. Our escape was proceeding better than we could have hoped, which was of course the sign for something to go wrong.

We got lost.

 

(continued in part 11)

 

 

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© 1999 by Brandy Dewinter. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.