{Enki | August 2006}

“Three billion counts of murder summary to genocide?”

Pehton’s orange feathers rustled when she shook her head. “Recommended sentence reduced to fifty years on Gait as requested by King Rayne of Earth and Cinder. Thirteen counts of tectonic manipulation? Reduced to ten years—Wow. You murdered your way across their planet and they’re reducing your sentences to something minuscule for your lifespan. You must be good in bed.”

The attractive white-haired man on his knees beside her shrugged casually. Korac, former General of the Icarean race, possessed the ability to aggravate her with only the pleasant cadence of his voice often heard from smirking lips. “King Rayne hasn’t had the pleasure, but you can interrogate General Sagan Sterling for her extensive evaluation.”

Pehton glanced at the device implanted in her pitch-black palm. Two more convictions completely expunged. “Looks like I don’t need to ask her. Come on, Pretty Boy.”

He chuffed and spoke in a voice dripping with disdain, “Pretty Boy? Clever. I’m curious to see what nickname you’ll coin next.” Those nacre glass cuffs—unbreakable—didn’t dampen his mood one bit. Even as he waited in the long line to face Enki’s Grand Tribunal.

She blinked red eyes at him. “You’re very optimistic for an Icarus about to spend several million years in the second-most secure cell on Gait.”

The Icarus rose to his full height, towering over her. His pale eyes twinkled with delight. “All you need is the love of a good woman or the favor of a King to keep your spirits high. Fortunately, I have both.”

The sheer audacity of this man. The ocean surrounding them couldn’t match the vastness of his ego. Pehton scoffed, “You really think you’ll break out and race across the galaxy into her bed?”

Korac’s rough-chopped, chin-length hair swayed with the shaking of his head. “No. I’m serving my sentence. On my honor, alone.”

“Hah! You’ll be in a cell.”

After stepping another pace in line, he went back to his knees on the shiny stone. As was proper. It should look ridiculous in a kilt, but alas…

A chuckle returned Pehton’s attention back to his watchful gaze. She blushed at that arrogant, infuriating, cocky smirk. Caught ogling her ward, Pehton almost groaned.

Obviously accustomed to the admiration, Korac didn’t comment on it. Instead, he proclaimed, “A cell which could not hold me unless I wanted it to.”

She threw her head back and laughed. Of all the egotistical, bombastic, ludicrous boasts her prisoners claimed over the years, this was a first.

In a flurry so fast Pehton barely tracked his movements, Korac jumped his cuffed hands to the front of him and used them to knock his Monarch 3 drone escort unconscious. Before Pehton reacted, he swept her legs out from under her.

His face appeared above hers with no sign of exertion. “When you find me outside of my cell, don’t add more charges. Remember this conversation. No. Additional. Charges.”

And so Pehton took a recess. Leaving Korac in Eminent Lance’s custody, she stepped through the conduit connecting Enki to Gait. The din enveloped her like a comforting embrace. Advertisements for food, sex, and pain blared from the billboards projected in the surrounding air. Her boots splashed in puddles of neon green pollution and waste. The aroma of synthetic food reached her from the street vendors lining Mercy’s Row. Beneath that, the familiar scent of sweat and desperation clawed at her nose.

Pehton smiled. Gait was her home. The derelict space-scrapers. The purple Overseers with their silent engines patrolling from above. The bustle of the Prisonborne as they struggled to make a living on a planet of inmates with overdue expiration dates. Three million—no—four million years ago now, she was born here. And this was where she expected to die.

She headed down the misty Row, willing her azure Lyriki armor to recede. A revealing halter top and short-shorts should satisfy. It left plenty of Pehton’s toned pitch-black curves exposed for her current errand. The orange feathers from her wrist to her elbows flared momentarily in anger as she considered the task.

It never got easier.

Pehton paused outside the door and lowered her red eyes. Remember what matters. What counts.

A loud utility vehicle passed overhead, interrupting her mantra. She sighed before collecting herself. Biting her black lips to ensure they swelled into an enticing pout, she opened the door to Razor’s Emporium of Exotic Experiences.

“Welcome home, Peh Peh,” Razor called from somewhere within the twilight warehouse. Renovated, of course. Antiqued mirrors lined the walls and reflected the whiskey lighting from the tarnished chandelier.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Like rows of teeth, the Divine Booths stood as eerie sentinels. Their charcoal alcoves hungrily awaited clients to siphon off their pleasure and pain. Consume their minds. Consume their souls.

Pehton, Executive Warden of Gait, closed her eyes to fight the shudder threatening to expose her weakness.

A tawny finger placed under her chin brought her around to face her jailer. Deep brown eyes, filled with pity, gazed down at her from a significant height advantage. “I can ease your troubles.”

Infinite promises swirled in Razor’s stare.

They were all bullshit. “I brought something for your Emporium.”

He measured her response a little longer than she liked before breaking into a delighted grin. Releasing her, he held out his palm. “You bring me the best wares.”

Pehton retrieved the capsule from her armor. She paused before handing it over. Did she want to do this? It felt dirty this time. Rayne’s ferocious expression came back to her. Deep within that girl’s electric-blue eyes was the strain of trauma Pehton recognized from the mirror.

Razor’s warm voice derailed her train of thought. “I’ve upgraded the booth for perspective realignment. You can see from outside yourself now.”

Pehton dropped the capsule in his hand.

He peered at it between his fingers. “Is this who I hope it is?”

“King Rayne of Earth and Cinder.”

The illumination from his smile almost blinded her. “Most perfect. I can’t wait.” He turned away. “Tell me about our latest resident, first.”

Pehton scoffed, “Can you believe it’ll take two years to process this guy? Two years! That’s how extensive his crimes and sentences are! He’s done things to people I can’t even pronounce. But I’ll never forget the look on those girls’ faces when we cut his hair. Total. Devastation. Tameka—the redhead, of course—is the only one with any sense.”

As Razor climbed the wrought-iron, spiral staircase to the mezzanine, he offered, “Korac is quite famous for his mystery and charm.”

Pehton’s heart skipped a beat as the dark-haired man moved through the glass stacks of wares toward the vault. What counts…

Continuing the friendly venting, she added, “That’s been understated. He’s gorgeous to look at and his voice... It’s the most grating, sexy, deceitful—”

“You’re making me jealous, Peh Peh.” Razor appeared at the banister with an alluring smirk and her vice in his hand.

Pehton swallowed and licked her parched lips like an addict. “No one is as charismatic and seductive as you, Razor.”

“You owe me seventeen thousand.”

Her wrist gliders flared as she snapped, “I just handed you the entire honey pot.”

He nodded, solemnly. “I’m most impressed. And if you’d managed to acquire Nox’s death as agreed, you’d be clear. Revisiting your own memories is very delicate work. Precision costs more.”

What counts. “What. Do you. Want.” Defeat.

Razor hopped the second story banister, landing hard enough to disrupt the parquet flooring. He applied his best solicitous smile as he crossed the room with a casual air of a man accustomed to getting his way. “Well, me and the others want to know who’s locked in the big cell. Out of harmless curiosity, of course.” He waved her sin in her face.

It passed Pehton’s eyes twice before she tried to snatch it. He let her capture one end and held the other in an iron grip.

She licked her black lips, confessing, “I don’t know.”

Razor jerked her close using her own depravity and gazed into her eyes. The infinite promises swirling in those brown depths hardened into infinite punishments.

“I swear I don’t. I haven’t even seen the block since they told me of the new arrival.” Pehton tugged on the device as he curved an arm around the small of her back.

Closer was bad.

Her voice strained with panic, “They only told me the new inmate was the most dangerous warrior in the galaxy.”

With the ghost of a kiss on her lips, Razor released Pehton’s corruption. “Go on.” He gazed at the capsule she delivered once again. “I’ll acquaint myself with our King Progeny.”

In three quick strides, Pehton crossed the warehouse and locked herself in a booth. Inserting her vice, she ignored the port point. Although she relied on this recall technology, only junkies resorted to nacre porting. Poor souls. She caught her reflection in the frosted glass as the immersive simulation loaded. Chest heaved, hands shook, pupils dilated. Poor her.

“Activate.”

Maybe an hour later, Pehton exited, drained and lost. Would it ever get easier? No. It shouldn’t. This mattered.

Razor whistled behind her. She turned and hid her initial dread. His brown skin pulsed a rhythmic glow under the chandelier. His lips swollen from biting as he finished. Pupils swallowed the irises of his eyes. He got off and high on Rayne’s pain.

The wicked Curator beamed at her. “Truly exquisite. The fear. The vulnerability. A treasure trove of bones broken and boundaries crossed. I’d dare say it’s better than Korac whipping Celindria.”

Pehton shook her head to hide her disgust, but he provided a great excuse to change the subject. “I can’t believe they made her a fucking Eminent. I’ve dedicated beyond millennia to doing good in this place, and they reward that bitch with my prize.” Rubbing the back of her neck, she growled, “She looked so smug taking the First Wave Progeny back to Enki where she can do Elden knows what to them—”

Razor watched her with a predatory intensity that let her know she spilled more than she intended.

With as much warmth and sincerity as she could muster, Pehton acknowledged, “Thank you, Razor. I know without you, this wouldn’t be possible.”

His gaze lingered on her. His eyes bounced from the pulse in her neck to the fists she’d yet to unclench. The silence stretched into the uncomfortable reminder that she remained, as always, at his mercy. All of Razor’s teeth gleamed when he smiled. “Anytime, Peh Peh. After sampling the girl’s suffering, I want to knock a few thousand credits off your debt.”

Pehton’s eyes widened. “Thank—”

He pressed a slender finger to her lips. “Admittedly, I owe you thanks for the exclusive rights without asking for a partnership. I’ll build an empire on her exceptional agony. I can afford to cut you some slack.”

Pehton shivered.

Razor tilted his head, inquiring.

“There was something odd about the way she carried it. That girl isn’t unpacking like a normal person. I can almost see the leashed devastation beneath that placid surface, and there’s only a breath holding it back.”

His brown eyes sparkled as he smirked. “As long as she doesn’t hold back, I should keep in good business.”

Pehton’s voice was grave as she warned, “Let’s pray she holds it. Nox ruled like a hurricane, but Rayne holds the death of everything in her eyes.”