Division Zero: Thrall (14 page)

“That’s kind of Freudian.”

“Huh? I dunno what that means. He isn’t throwing fits or tantrums or even protesting when I go out. He… I don’t know, Doc. It’s like he’s worried about
me
, and there’s no reason for it.” Kirsten shuddered, trying to keep her breakfast down. She broke out in a sweat. “If that relationship becomes any threat to his well-being, I’ll call it off with Konstantin. Evan’s more important to me than anything.” She drew in a sharp breath, sweating, shivering.

“Are you alright, Kirsten? You look feverish.”

She grimaced at the wall. “I was in The Beneath last night, maybe I picked something up. I’ll head over to the infirmary when we’re done.”

“Good enough. In the manner of your adoption request, you haven’t demonstrated”―Kirsten sagged, her eyes reddened, breathing went shallow―“any significant mental issues that would lead me to challenge his placement.”

Kirsten squeaked, clutching her hands to her chest.

“Also, given you’re the only Astral Sensate of any note in the entire region, command is encouraging the idea. I’m going to recommend that they approve your request. Danita did have some reservations about your living arrangements, however. You’ll have to do better than give him a sleeping bag on your floor.”

“Oh!” Kirsten jumped to her feet. “I was gonna get a bigger place, but I was terrified they’d deny me and then the giant apartment would just make me think of him.” She sagged onto the couch again, heart racing. “I’ll definitely move. We’ll get a place.”

Dr. Loring gave her a quizzical look. “You should get over to the infirmary, Kirsten. You look normal again. Do you feel feverish at all?”

“No,” she blurted through a grin. “I feel awesome.”

irsten draped herself on Konstantin’s arm in the back seat of the white stretch hovercar. It had been almost a week since she had seen him. His presence had come on like a rush of a little girl seeing a military father back after a yearlong deployment. He didn’t seem to mind her clinging, entwining his seized arm through hers until he held one of her hands. White high-heeled shoes sat on the floor, legs tucked up under her on the pale grey seats.

Shimmering silver fabric clung to her body, held in place by a choker that verged on being too tight. The garment left most of her back exposed; however, unlike her green dress, it remained secure over her front with a hem that ended at mid-thigh.

“Do you like the gown?”

Her open-mouthed grin closed as she nodded. “It’s lovely.”

Kirsten rested her head on his shoulder, one finger idly picking at the inch-tall metal ring around her neck. The tight-fitting band, coupled with her subservient posture, caused an out-of-nowhere crash of shame. Woozy, she let go and sat up with one hand on her head.

“Are you alright, my dear?”

She glanced at him, then forward. “I… The choker is a little tight. I don’t think I’m getting enough air.”

Konstantin brushed her hair aside and tugged her closer by the metal ring. The gesture did little to lessen the feeling of being another of his possessions. Too sick to resist, she clasped her hands to her gut and let him move her. He squeezed something behind her neck, the device chirped, and loosened.

“It’s adjustable. Is that better?” He tugged at the fabric, making sure it sat over her collarbones properly.

Her hands slid from stomach to lap as he nudged her face around with a finger on the chin and kissed her. As if he had special powers, the touch of his lips chased away the tightening knot in her gut. Konstantin leaned away, smiling with half-closed eyes at her stunned expression.

“Yes, that’s better.” She put a hand on her throat, fiddling with it.

He took her hand again, stroking the back. “You still seem on edge.”

“In the Badlands, gangs abduct people and keep them as slaves. I met a spirit who died like that, wandered all the way to the city. There was so much shame in her. I couldn’t get her to grasp the concept of latent self-image. She couldn’t make the collar go away, probably still out there somewhere. Her spirit won’t be free until she gets justice, and there was no convincing command to go after the bastards who killed her. This choker feels a bit like a collar to be honest.” She offered a weak smile.

Konstantin gestured at the roof. “Then you shall be rid of it. How do you fancy blue?”

“Oh, you don’t have to buy me another dress. I’m just feeling a little claustrophobic. Really, it’s fine.”
Am I? What the hell is wrong with me? Why is my stomach doing backflips? Maybe I’m just afraid I’ll wake up from this dream.

“I insist. I want you to be at ease and enjoy our night.”

She blushed. “Aren’t you speaking?”

He chuckled. “Yes, I have to entertain the underlings for a short while. After that, the evening is ours.”

He spoke in Russian to the driver, who altered course. Kirsten stared at her knees, feeling awkward and guilty about making him spend more money. Nothing she said changed his mind, and as the car began its descent, she slipped her shoes back on. They landed on the roof of a Mallplex in Sector 214, an area of the city that functioned as the playground of the wealthy. She found herself clinging to his arm as they crossed the hovercar parking area to an elevator, wondering how she’d gone from police officer to arm decoration.

The walls shifted upward in regular flashes of light bands. An unsettling tickle returned to her gut as she gazed at the reflected couple on the silver doors. The blonde sylph hanging off the arm of the handsome billionaire seemed like some helpless debutante incapable of functioning on her own. She bristled at the look on her own face and shifted a half-step right. Konstantin glanced at her adjustment from full-body lean to three-fingered handhold.

“Are you sure you’re well, dear? You seem to be out of sorts tonight.”

She found the nausea lessened with her eyes closed. “I feel guilty you’re spending money on me again because the neck was a little tight. This dress is fine, there’s no need to replace it. What you spent on it could feed six families for a week.”

“Tell you what.” He pulled her into a peck on the cheek. “Tomorrow morning I’ll donate some credits in your name to whatever charity sends food to the disadvantaged.”

“I’d rather you do that than buy me another dress.”

The elevator doors opened.

“Too late, we’re already here.”

He led her by the hand through an opulent open-air mall corridor. Rose-marble tile floors turned white wherever they reflected the strong overhead lights. A strip of starry night sky was visible past artificial birds through the center of the hall, despite their being seven floors down from the roof. Couples sat in the shade of trees; the food court at the Sector 214 Mallplex was the ‘high end’ of dining for the “well off, but not wealthy” crowd. Somewhere in the distance, a small girl had a fit about the wrong color shoes. Kirsten found the source and offered a sympathetic look at the beleaguered older man weathering the verbal assault from a ten-year-old in an outfit as expensive as what Kirsten wore.
He’s got the patience of a saint. Damn, kid, I’d have been happy to
have
shoes at all at your age.

Men and women in gleaming white armor, spotless save for a black TMC on their breast, wandered in pairs. The mall security personnel, unlike the last ones she ran into, were in the employ of Triton Manufacturing Corporation rather than the holding company that owned the building. At least eighty percent of the items for sale in this place were made by TMC, a mega-corp that engulfed, over the course of the corporate war, a wide variety of manufacturing and consumer-goods industries.

The security officers appeared to pay more attention to the workers than the customers. Kirsten thought this odd, pondering it until she realized Konstantin had led her distracted self into a store and a clerk was trying to talk to her. She wasn’t a doll and couldn’t have been older than seventeen.
Live workers in the mall? Not dolls?
Kirsten squinted a dire look at some of the security staff.
Oh, I get it. Watch the poor people working for the elite, make sure they don’t steal.

“Hi,” she said to the girl, before looking up at Konstantin. “This really isn’t necessary, I―”

He shushed her with a nod, and took the datapad out of the clerk’s hand and offered it. “Just pick something, don’t worry about it. We’ve got to be there soon.”

Now she felt guilty about making him late for his big presentation. She grasped the eight-by-eleven inch device bearing images of faceless female bodies in gowns of various sizes, styles, and color. Konstantin had suggested blue, and for whatever reason, it stuck with her. Kirsten handed the pad back to the woman while making an embarrassed face at the wall. The girl took it and turned on her heel. A smile replaced her surly teenage glare as she waved for Kirsten to follow her. She passed a few benches and fake plants and walked into an area full of partitions separated by ivory-colored curtains with faint silvery speckles. Within each chamber, a metal disc about three feet across rose a few inches up from the floor.

“I’ll need you to take the dress you’re wearing off. Keep your undergarments on though.”

Mechanically, she reached up and opened the choker, letting the garment slide over her hips to the floor. For a moment, a twinge of shame hit her as she realized she was bare-breasted in a room full of other women about to have their purchases created to size. The sight of Konstantin peeking through the door at her sent a fireball of adrenaline up through her abdomen. Shame shifted to thrill in an instantaneous flash. Having him watch her on display stirred feelings deep within she had never entertained.

Forgetting at once about the shame of spending such amounts on clothing, she stepped onto the pad and turned to face the clerk. The teen looked away to be polite, noticing the bright red color of Kirsten’s face―though it was not embarrassment anymore.

“Please lift your arms away from your sides.” The girl poked at a holographic terminal just outside the now-closed curtains. “When it starts spraying, hold your breath.”

A metal spider descended from above, spinning and whirring about with an array of strange attachments. Green laser light drew glowing lines upon her paleness, shrinking and forming to her contours. Two seconds later, they flickered and went out. Eye-watering chemical fumes surrounded her as the device sprang to life in a flurry. It started at her neck, spraying in passes. Viscous blue muck adhered to her skin, a color change that expanded down over her chest. Kirsten closed her eyes, trying to hold still while being coated in a substance with the consistency and feel of cold cat vomit.

Breezy chill passed over her ribs, down her back, and onto her thighs. Her arms hovered upward, no longer due to conscious thought. Her face cringed in a grimace appropriate for being dipped in something nasty. Furious robot appendages continued to spin around her, fussing and pulling at the material. More spray on the thighs thickened, pulled into a loose-fitting knee-length skirt as the clicking machine printed the garment onto her body.

The slime changed texture before her eyes, forming into discrete threads of seven different shades of blue. What had just been liquid became cloth. The garment left her shoulders bare and took on the feel of silk. Two robotic arms pinched it between her shoulder blades, and a rush of cold air hit her. In the span of only a few seconds, the machine slashed the gown to the small of her back and stitched in a nanomesh fastener. A thumbnail sized faux sapphire seated at the upper edge, just on her collarbone, came last. Squeezing it would open or close the back.