Crown of Slaves

The door to the Mesan suite erupted in a flash. The concussion knocked Ringstorff off his feet. In a daze, he saw Diem and Lithgow and Flairty hammered to the floor as well. Fortunately, the two Masadans who'd remained standing next to the door absorbed most of the force of the explosion. Their shattered bodies went flying across the room.

Ringstorff knew he needed to act immediately, but his brain and nervous system were still responding sluggishly. So he wasn't able to do much more than lurch to his knees and gurgle an inarticulate protest before people started pouring through the ruptured doorway.

He was a bit surprised to see two women coming through first. Then, recognizing their distinctive phenotypes and facial structure, understood the reason. Scrags. Faster, probably, than the two Mesan security guards fumbling at their weapons. Since they'd been the farthest from the door, they'd managed to remain on their feet.

Fat lot of good it did them. The first woman through the door had a pulser in her hand and fired two quick and expert bursts. The two guards went down, dead before they landed.

The second woman strode over to Flairty, who was still lying prone on the floor, her gun pointed at the back of the Masadan's head.

And good riddance, thought Ringstorff. At least he wouldn't die without seeing the bastard zealot sent to his grave first.

But, to his surprise, the woman didn't fire. At the last moment, she swiveled the gun aside and just kicked Flairty in the back of the head. It was a powerful kick but not the lethal one she could have so obviously delivered. Just enough to daze Flairty completely.

Four men had now entered the room, moving a bit more slowly than the women. One of them remained standing near the door, a pulser in his fist but pointing at no one in particular. One of them came toward Ringstorff, another headed toward Diem, the third toward Lithgow. Lithgow, like Ringstorff himself, was now up on his knees. Diem was still flat on the floor, apparently unconscious.

The approaching men were carrying hand pulsers but, like the one by the door, didn't seem to be planning to use them. Not immediately, at least. Ringstorff decided he and Lithgow still had a chance-a piss-poor one, true- and tried to gather himself for a sudden lunge.

Then the man coming toward Ringstorff stuck out his tongue-stuck it way out-and Ringstorff froze. The genetic markers were easily visible and… unmistakable.

'Shall we dance?' the man jeered. 'I don't recommend it though, Ringstorff. I really doubt you're up to being my partner.'

Audubon Ballroom. More fanatics. I'm dead meat.

'My name's Saburo X, by the by. Give me any shit and I'll blow off your arms and legs, cut off your nose and feed it to you. Be a good boy, and you'll live. Maybe a long time, who knows?'

Mutely, Ringstorff gave him a nod. Then, without being asked, clasped his hands behind his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lithgow do the same. Nobody in their right mind-certainly not anyone on Mesa's payroll-was going to doubt a Ballroom fanatic's threats of mayhem.

Apparently satisfied, Saburo X glanced at the woman who'd kicked Flairty.

'It was well done,' he said. The words sounded a bit grudging.

'Of course it was,' she replied. But there was no heat in the response. True, she was frowning. But it seemed more like a frown of concentration than displeasure.

'Do that again,' she said abruptly.

'Do what?'

She stuck out her tongue. Saburo goggled at the sight. Then, his jaws tightened.

'Please,' said the woman, as if the word didn't come easily to her.

Saburo suppressed whatever angry words he'd been about to speak; hesitated; shrugged; and stuck out his tongue again.

The woman examined it for an instant.

'I can live with that,' she pronounced. 'In fact, it looks kind of intriguing. I'm Lara. Have you got a woman?'

The Ballroom member was back to goggling. 'Not recently,' he choked. 'Why?'

'You do now,' Lara stated, as casually as if she were announcing the time of day. 'I don't like being without a man, and the one I had isn't going to live out the day. The stinking pig.'

She reached down with her left hand, seized Flairty by the scruff of his blouse, and yanked him easily to his feet. Flairty wobbled, his eyes still dazed, held up only by Lara's grip.

'You can take a while to get used to the idea,' she announced. 'But don't take too long. I'm horny.'

She began muscling Flairty toward the door, carrying him more than guiding him. On the way, she gave Ringstorff a cold glance.

'Give my new man any trouble and you'll be lucky if you die before he's done. I'll-'

By the time she had Flairty through the door, Ringstorff felt sick to his stomach. The ex-Scrag female's vivid description of the mayhem she'd inflict on him made Saburo seem like a saint.

'She's crazy,' Saburo choked.

'I dunno,' said the Ballroom terrorist who was now manhandling Lithgow to his feet. 'I thought the last bit had a certain charm.'

'Not that, Johann,' replied Saburo, shaking his head. 'The other part.'

Johann grinned. 'I dunno,' he repeated. 'I'm not sure I'd argue the point with a woman like that, myself. Besides, you were complaining the other day that your life was too boring.'

'Especially his sex life,' chimed in the Ballroom member by the door. 'Bored me to death about it, he did, just yesterday.' He, too, was grinning. And by the time he finished, was looking at the other ex-Scrag female still in the room.

'And what's your name?' he asked.

She grinned back. 'Inge. But don't push it. I want to get a report from Lara first.'

* * *

Less than five minutes later, the four Mesans had been bundled into an expensive private air-car waiting by a service entrance behind the Suds. By then, Ringstorff had gotten over his astonishment at the ease with which the abduction had been managed-there had been no one along their way through the huge edifice, not even so much as a janitor-and was now grimly certain that his life hung by a thread. This was obviously not just an Audubon Ballroom operation. Somebody high up in the Erewhon hierarchy must have run interference for them.

As he was half-thrown into the back seat of the luxurious vehicle, piling on top of Diem, he caught a glimpse of the monogram on the controls.

Imbesi. Oh, what a nightmare.

* * *

By the time Imbesi's private shuttle launched,carrying Flairty and the three Mesans up to The Wages of Sin, the major families who ruled Erewhon had their representatives already inspecting the damage.

'We can live with this,' pronounced Tomas Hall, as his eyes ranged through the Mesan suite in the Suds.

'Barely,' hissed Alessandra Havlicek.

The third member of the planet's triumvirate shrugged. 'It's really not a problem, Alessandra. Four dead, all flunkies-two of them Masadans, from the look of the bodies. Big deal. The wrecked door's got the management of the Suds more upset than anything.'

Havlicek was not mollified. 'I don't like Walter Imbesi's high-handed ways. He's really pushing it, in my opinion.'