Under the Eye of God (8 page)

“Kernel d'Vashti does not speak for me. He has never spoken for me. He never will. Arrange the suite immediately. I will accept nothing less than full Regency security—oh, and find one that doesn't stink of mammals. I've had enough bad smells to last the rest of my life.” The wasp bowed and stepped to one side, linking itself immediately to the station network.

Zillabar turned brusquely to the Captain of her Dragons. “Naye-Ninneya, I'll need at least a dozen hours of dreamtime. During that period, have my cargo unloaded and see that all the gifts have made the journey safely. Then I want you to personally inspect and secure the landing vessel before you load anything aboard it.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

The wasp stepped back to Lady Zillabar. “I will lead you to the Imperial Suite now.”

While Captain Naye-Ninneya conducted his usual thorough security inspection, Lady Zillabar barely glanced through the rooms. Right now, she only cared about the quality of the suite's dream-tank. She found it in the personal quarters; she had seen worse—hell, she had slept in worse. She could not contain her irritability and exhaustion any longer. This would have to do.

She waited until Naye-Ninneya concluded his inspection, then dismissed him impatiently. Naye-Ninneya withdrew quietly; he ordered two Dragons to wait outside the door to the Lady's personal rooms. Two others guarded the main entrance of the suite.

Lady Zillabar slid out of her gown, feeling its weight slide away like years of toil. She eased herself into the dream-coffin, sighing gratefully as its silken mists embraced her. She inhaled the vapors deeply. She wished for fresh blood to feed her dreams, but didn't mind the lack. Almost instantly, she drifted into rosy splendor, her consciousness dissolving into red necrotic bliss. The dreams engulfed her in an overpowering rush . . .
cold lips press against hot fruity skin, a warm hand slips into hers, the body curls nakedly around her, fitting flesh to flesh, curve to curl, the scent of wine and blood, the violin wails alone, dry breath caresses the cheek, the mouth parts gently, the pale tongue flicks in and out and tastes the air, black flowers fill the garden with a tarty perfume, the curve of naked skin, so clean and white, the hair cascades, the taste of death, the bite, the sudden crunch of bone, the delicious pleasure, orgasmic, flowing, filling, sweet, the scarlet hair, the mandibles, the stiffening moment, slicing wetly, sliding, penetrating, insertion, transformation, penetration, impalement, the heart grasps, a sudden flash of color, changing red to pink to white to orange, the vision opens, curtains parting, falling aside, the petals unfolding, the landscape spreading out like crumpled bedsheets, pink and white and yellow, fruity smells and puffball trees, the whirring sounds of stinging insects, the bed enfolds, the arms enfold, the legs upfold, the legs, the arms, the thrill begins below, inside, and climbs, the flow comes rising up, the crimson fury burns, expands and fills, and gasps, the star unfolds, explodes in glowing supernova patterns, it roars, it cries, ecstatic fury, flooding, spasming, orgasming, instantaneously transcending, riding, flying, coasting, drifting, receding, ebbing, sliding, dying, leaving in its wake a myriad of twinkling, fading pinpoints of sensation, leaving consciousness, enlightenment, a host of visions, flowers, eagles, wasps and Dragons, hot-blooded puppies, morsels, uneaten, starships, angry Dragons, bleeding cattle, wasted blood, untasted blood, an avalanche of flesh, machines and tears, emptiness and terror, dizzying dreams, and all those little eggs, a spurt of something yellow, converging lines, the flowers taste of shit, the dust, something dying in the wind of time, a glut of death and words, the endless pouring stream, the dream, the night, the stars
, the Eye of God
, oh God, the line, preserve the line, the holy horror surges, plunges down and out into empty space
. . .

After safely installing the Lady in her temporary quarters, Captain Naye-Ninneya picked two of his warriors, Kask and Keeda, to accompany him to the cargo port to supervise the unloading and transfer of their master's goods.

Several large containers hung from overhead transfer rails, waiting for the handlers to move them out of
The Lady MacBeth
's aft bay and into the station's cargo port. Three bulky cages also waited, two fat puppies in each of them. Naye-Ninneya began to carefully inspect the seals of the cargo modules, while Kask and Keeda eyed the puppies in the cages hungrily.

Ota stood patiently to one side with a manifest. Gito and Robin waited with her; both carried deadly-looking sidearms. Gito also wore a disdainful expression. Robin, an android, knew how to keep her face carefully blank. Nearby, Shariba-Jen, a heavy-metal robot, stood apart from them holding a portable laser-cannon. The robot had a leathery-looking, copper skin; it had the general form and appearance of a human male, but it moved like an animated sculpture. Naye-Ninneya automatically noted the potential fire patterns; a little narrow, but practical for these cramped quarters. In spite of his contempt for these creatures, he still approved of their feral cunning.

“If everything meets with your inspection, nobility, please sign the manifest.” Ota offered the clipboard.

Naye-Ninneya ignored it. Dragons did not serve prey. Prey served Dragons. He yawned broadly and made a great show of inspecting the cargo modules, taking as long as he possibly could. Eventually, he worked his way over to the cages. The puppies whimpered and cringed under his scrutiny.
¹⁸

“Thirsty—” wailed one of the pups. “Can we have a wa-wa?” It stood up against the bars of the cage, scratching and scrambling with fluffy paws, and wagging its tail hopefully. Naye-Ninneya noticed that its little pinafore had stains all up and down the front. Disgusting. All the pups would probably need cleaning before the presentation—and fattening too. They hadn't endured the journey well.

The puppy peered up at Naye-Ninneya, at Kask and Keeda. “Wa-wa, pwease?” it begged. The Dragon ignored its request. Talking prey annoyed him. He could already hear it begging, “Please don't kill me. Can't you eat something else?” Naye-Ninneya believed that prey should have the good manners not to speak as it died—a simple squeal perhaps, but not a soliloquy.

Ota glanced to Robin. “Get the pups some water, please,” it whispered. Robin nodded and went quickly to the service bay; she returned with a pail of water, a dipper, and a detached expression. As she approached the first cage, all the pups began wagging their tails excitedly and squealing in eager anticipation. “Wa-wa! Wa-wa!”

“All right, all right—” called Robin. “Everybody calm down. You'll all get wa-wa. I have plenty—”

Abruptly, Captain Naye-Ninneya stepped deliberately into her way. Robin looked up—
and up
—to meet his black emotionless gaze. He towered over her darkly. “Did I order water for these animals?” he asked, his voice rumbling harshly.

“Wa-waa. Pwease. Wa-waaa. Now.” The puppies cried insistently.

“Why do you deny them water?” Robin asked innocently, keeping her voice purposely bland, and betting that the Dragon did not have the experience to recognize the full range of humanoid emotions, especially not the coy pretense of naïveté. “I thought your master commanded you to
protect
her property. What value do you add by starving and abusing these poor children?”

“Pwease. Waa-waaaa—pwease.” As if to underline Robin's point, all six of the puppies had climbed to their feet, and had begun reaching through the bars of their cages, clawing and crying.

Naye-Ninneya ignored it. He'd ignored worse. “If you water them,” he explained, “they will only urinate all over themselves and their cages. They will stink. They will offend the sensibilities.”

“So, wash them.” Robin smiled and batted her eyes. “You do know how to wash, don't you?”

“Dragons don't wash—” Naye-Ninneya snarled.

“So we've noticed,” Gito called from his position by the wall. He sniffed distastefully. Ota poked him sharply; Gito stepped sideways out of her reach, but he muted his disdainful expression.

Naye-Ninneya rumbled warningly. His orders didn't extend to cover insubordination by the starship crew. He didn't know if he had a license to kill this insolent servant or not. Better just to play it safe, he thought. He looked down at Robin and let the tone of his voice show his contempt, “Do you plan on accompanying us so you can attend to the washing? If so, by all means, give them water. If not, take it away.”

Robin looked startled, as if she had just realized something. “You honestly don't care about their suffering, do you?”

“Suffering builds character. It adds
flavor
to the meat.” Behind him, the puppies began to weep.

The android looked unconvinced. “I wouldn't know. I don't eat meat.”

For some reason, Naye-Ninneya felt uncomfortable. Defensive. It puzzled him. He shouldn't feel that way in front of prey. He puffed out his chest. “The animals can wait until they reach the kennels downside. They will have water and grooming then.”

“If they sicken, or worse, if they die, your master will blame us for insufficient care. Let me give them water now. And baths. We'll clean their clothes and deliver them to the landing shuttle in a much happier state.”

The Captain of the Lady Zillabar's Dragons considered the thought. It made good sense; but if he followed the android's suggestion, he would look weak. The prey used a word to justify weakness; they called it
compassion
. “No,” he decided. “I cannot allow it. My orders do not permit the animals out of my supervision.”

“Stay and watch then,” Robin suggested. She forced herself to focus on the Dragon, otherwise the plight of the caged puppies might distract her so badly that she'd lose all of her control; in which case, she might do something
really
dangerous.

“I must see the cargo safely transferred. That includes the cages. I will permit no exceptions.”

Robin could feel her frustration building. She stopped trying to pretend. “Does the word
dogmatic
mean anything to you?” she snapped.

“An automatic canine? A relative of yours, perhaps?” Naye-Ninneya allowed himself a sharp-toothed smile, overly pleased with himself at his nasty little joke. He had shown this android bitch that Dragons did not lack a sense of humor.

He turned to Ota. “I'll sign that manifest now.” He strode over to the bioform and grabbed the clipboard from its paws. He rudely ground his right thumbprint into the scanning plate, then thrust it back. “You!” He pointed to the robot, Shariba-Jen. “You may begin transferring these containers to the landing-shuttle security bay. Kask, Keeda—you will supervise.” He turned sharply and left.

In their cages, the puppies wailed abysmally, their tails drooping.

Robin turned to Ota; but Ota shook its head sadly. “I ache worse than you do, but . . . I can do nothing.” The bioform put a restraining hand on Robin's arm. “Let it go. The universe will find its own punishment for that one.”

The planet turned, baking in the oppressive gloom of the giant red star. The inhabitants called it
Devil's Heart
and other things even less complimentary. Pilgrims find no gratitude here, only hellish days and bizarre nights.

The fading old sun gave off very little light, only a dull gloomy presence; but it still had the heat to scorch the air and shatter the rocks. Dayside, the huge dark furnace scoured the planet's face and burned the deserts. The atmosphere crackled with coronal effects; Thoska-Roole writhed under a steady onslaught of particle bombardment that left the weather churning, the mountains burning, and the atmosphere faintly glowing.

But somehow, as it always does, life endured. It even thrived.

The few real cities on Thoska-Roole remained untouched by the fiery day; they hid well inside the walls of the planet's deepest fissures. These scars ran deep—once sliced with the cuts of ancient mines, now they shone with the lights of civilization. Here, down beneath, safe from the winds, safe from the solar flares, the interior precipices churned with life, the constant continual thrusting, pushing, clamoring for uncommon living space.

Follow the walls of the rift downward and behold the teeming slums of the vertical city: bright hanging markets, plunging complexes of hive-like apartments, the terrifying overhang of greedy business districts, and precarious perpendicular gardens, dripping with yellow and black fripperies; everything tightly clustered, jammed one against another in a desperate grasp for purchase. And all these exterior structures only represented the open face of the crowded city; most of the real dwellings burrowed deeper into the bedrock, tunneling sideways into dark cramped warrens. Many of the denizens here had never seen real daylight. Below, the bottom of the chasm disappeared in darkness. Above, far above, the sheltering roofs distilled the dayside heat into faint red gloom. Between the dark and the day, the rift-cities fattened and prospered.

Twenty klicks to the southwest, a twisted spire of rock reached upward, as if grabbing for the sky—MesaPort; three kilometers tall, high enough so that its broken peak stood easily above the worst of the scouring winds and the restless dust and lightning storms. Here, in the gaudy palace that crowned the peak; and here, deep in the caverns that honeycombed the mountain; the Nobility lived, deliberately isolating themselves from those they fed upon. And here, at the very topmost peak of MesaPort, on the mountain's flattened crown, the sky-boats came to nest at the safest place to land in a radius of 500 kilometers.

The lights of MesaPort blazed upward through the gloom, shining beacons in the gray and orange dust. Pseudo-white lasers carved the day into quadrants. And then they paused. Everything hesitated, waiting. . . .

A glow appeared in the distance, a faint rumble of noise accompanied it. Those few attendants standing on the outer surfaces of the palace turned to look. Others, waiting at the edge of the landing field, powered up their service vehicles and lowered their goggles over their eyes.