This Alien Shore (11 page)

“Be careful if you talk,” he cautioned in a whisper. “The conduits amplify sound.”

... beyond that was a vast chamber filled with highly decorated kiosks, clearly a marketplace of some kind. Only here there were no brightly patterned clothes, no racks of jewelry, no alien cosmetics—no items of personal adornment at all, she noted. Smells of food wafted up to the air duct they were hidden in, exotic scents that stung the nostrils. Electronic equipment hung on fine wires from vendors' racks. Men in simple dress stopped to taste, to test, to haggle, and she heard snatches of at least a dozen languages. Aside from the fact that all wore cloth headdresses of some kind, either elaborately wrapped turbans or long fringed cloths, they looked like the men of any other marketplace.

“Why is this place off-limits?” she asked in a whisper. A woman had entered the chamber—at least, it seemed to be a woman—dark cloth obscuring her face and body, with only hands and eyes visible. The robes she wore were clearly from some hi-G environment, where gravity could be relied upon to keep long garments in place. What would she wear in a flyway? Jamisia wondered.

“Their religious law states that true believers can't be ruled by those outside the faith,” he whispered back. “Most modern sects'll make an exception for this ship—it is only a transportation vehicle, after all—but these Traditionalists consider the metroliner an independent station, and therefore they can't take up residence here as long as an unbeliever is in charge. It's a tough call, since their religion demands that every one of them has to travel to Earth at some time to visit their founder's city, and this is the only way there.”

She was confused. “But it's okay if they're all living together in one place?”

“It's not just that they're together here,” he explained. “This whole sector's under their control. They follow their own laws here, and don't have to recognize those of the ship, or of Earth. They even have their own leader, who can administrate whatever manner of justice he sees fit; the Captain-General has no authority. And no one from the outside will interfere with them, even if Earth laws are violated.”

She turned from the marketplace scene to look at him; his dark eyes glittered in the reflected light from below. “That's incredible,” she whispered.

He nodded. “You see why they have to be cut off from everyone else, don't you? Any conflict at all with the other passengers could turn into a real mess. Whose justice would you appeal to?”

He had moved closer to her, she noted, so that now his side was pressed against hers. Gently, oh so gently. She could draw away if she wanted, there were still a few inches for that. “Look,” he prompted her, guiding her vision back to the scene below them. A robed man had entered the marketplace, a young boy attending him. The boy was clad only in well-worn shorts and coarse shoes, and seemed out of place in the crisply dressed crowd. As the man made various purchases, he handed them to the boy, who struggled to carry them all. Some were large and unwieldy, and she could see his muscles straining as he struggled to balance them in his arms.

“Indentured servant?” she whispered. She was familiar with the concept, though Earth had long ago abolished the custom.

“More than that.” The man had turned, and snapped sharp words at the boy; his face flushed as he nodded quickly. “Remember, this trip's
mandatory;
if you don't go to Earth during your life, you don't get to heaven after death. So every Traditionalist has to put in six years on the metroliner at some point, regardless of whether or not he can afford it. Some can't, obviously. The other sects got around it by establishing holy sites in the outworlds, so the poor would have some cheaper alternative, but in this sect there are no exceptions;
everyone
has to go back to the original holy city.” He nodded toward the boy, still struggling to juggle his load. “So those who have no money to make the trip can sell themselves to someone else for the price of passage. It's a kind of indenture, I guess, only it lasts seven years and there's no way to buy out early. And no laws to protect you once you sign up for it.”

As if in response to his words the boy turned so that his back was to them, and Jamisia had to work to stifle a gasp. The pale skin was crisscrossed with scars, both fresh and aged, from the long, red welts of a simple lash to the horseshoe-shaped burn marks of an electric prod.

“Only place in Guild space where slavery still exists,” he whispered. “Kind of amazing they let it go on, if you ask me.”

He had pressed a little closer to her now, so that she could feel his warmth along the length of her body. The awareness brought a flush of heat to her skin and a blush to her cheeks. He appealed to her, there was no denying that, and at any other time in her life she might have leaned against him in return, or met his eyes with a special intensity, or otherwise signaled a tentative sexual interest. But here! She was too vulnerable on the metroliner, her life was still in chaos, she couldn't afford to take on the complexities of a relationship just now ... so regretfully,
very
regretfully, she drew back from him, just a few inches but enough to make it clear that this was not the time or place for sexual flirtation—

Or she tried to. But her body didn't do what she wanted. She sent it the signal to back away, and instead it pressed closer to him. The sensation was dizzying, sickening. Her hand moved up to his face and gently stroked his cheek; she had no control over it, none at all. It was as if her body were that of a stranger, and she was merely trapped inside, a spectator to its actions.

Panic twisted a cold hand around her heart. Inwardly she quaked in terror, even as her arms went around his body, drawing him closer.
NO NO NO NO NO!
Her lips met his and the kiss was hungry, she could feel the heat of it spreading through her body ... and still she had no control, none at all, she was a mere spectator to her own actions. He had one arm wrapped behind her shoulder now, and the other hand was moving up her body. Inside she was screaming desperately, trying to force even one word to the surface ... but her body merely sighed and moved closer to him, inviting his caress. It was as if some vital connection between her body and soul had been severed, and something with alien purpose had taken its place. Trapped inside her head, she beat at the invisible walls of her prison with all her mental strength, but to no avail; his hand cupped her breast and a flush of pleasure, hot and guilty, poured into her brain like a drug.
NO NO NO....

And then, just when it seemed her brain would explode, there was one precious moment of sanity, in which her body was her own again. She felt her hands responding to her will again and with a gasp she pushed him away from her, hard. Surprised, he hit the wall of the conduit with a dull thud. In another time and place she might have worried about the sound resounding in the vast chamber below, revealing their spy-hole; right now it was the least of her worries. With a sob of terror she wriggled about in the small space until she was turned back the way they had come, then launched herself into the narrow tube. It was a hard space to travel in quickly, but terror lent her strength, and she crawled on knees and elbows as fast as she could. God willing he would let her go, and not follow. God willing she knew the way home. God willing the strange force which had taken control of her body for those few minutes would admit defeat now, and not force her to stop in her flight, not return to that sexual interplay which even now heated her blood in memory....

Panting, elbows raw, she came to the first fork in the conduit system, and dared to glance back the way she had come as soon as there was room to do so. He didn't seem to be following, or if he was doing so, it was at a slower pace. Panic eased a tiny fraction of its stranglehold on her heart, but still she did not slow down. She had to get away from there, away from
him,
before whatever terrible thing had happened to her, happened again.

What was that?
she screamed silently, words trapped within her head.
What the hell was that?

No answer. The voices, for once, were silent.

It seemed like an eternity later that she finally reached the place where they had entered the ventilation system. With a sob—and no thought for possible discovery—she kicked the grating loose, and slid through the narrow opening. The gravity here was strong enough that she hit her head on the floor as she landed, and pain lanced through one of the arms she used to brace herself for the fall. Tears were coming to her eyes now, from pain as well as terror. The sleeves of her jumpsuit were worn through, and a warm stickiness was trickling down from her abraded elbows. With a sob she folded her arms one over the other, trying to hide the damage, and began to run. It was not a good position for balance, and her legs were weak from fright; more than once she fell, and the impact sent fresh pain lancing up her wounded arm.

Oh, please, let me get home safely
, she prayed silently.
Please please please
...

Tunnels, tunnels, more tunnels. She passed by other passengers, who glanced at her and then looked quickly away; evidently something in her expression was too frightening to study for long. At last she was in her home sector again, sobbing as she ran to the only safe place left to her. The lock on her door didn't recognize her hand for a moment, as there was enough blood smeared on it to obscure her print; when she realized what the problem was she wiped it on her jumpsuit leg, hard enough to make her palm burn. Then the door slid open, admitting her, and she staggered inside. “Close!” she ordered, choking out the sound. The door slid shut in silent obedience, locking out the world.

Sickness welled up inside her with sudden, stunning force, as if her horror had suddenly been given physical substance within her gut, and her body was struggling to expel it. She barely staggered over to the sink in time before she began to retch helplessly, and she vomited over and over again as if there were no end to her sickness. Now that she was safe at last—as safe as she could be on this ship—the memories of what had happened came back to her, as fresh as if she were still in the conduit. The horror of being trapped inside a prison of unresponsive flesh, of watching her body move without her willing it, like a marionette jerked by a puppet-master's strings ... even worse, the sensation of having alien thoughts placed
inside
her head, so that even as she struggled to break out of his embrace, a part of her didn't want to.

I'm going crazy,
she thought.
And now he knows it. How long before they drag me away for treatment, and ship me back to Earth? Oh, God, help me.
She slid slowly down to the floor and leaned weakly against the wall, bitter fluid hot in her throat. “Help me,” she whispered. “Please....”

But no one came for her. No one helped. She would even have welcomed her voices, for they were at least familiar to her, a madness she understood and accepted ... but this time the voices were silent.

Waiting.