Freehold (17 page)

"Getting, yes. It's still not comfortable."

"Okay," Marta agreed, turning back to the path. "I didn't mean to be pushy. And I'm sorry if I got the wrong idea."

"I don't know if it's the wrong idea," Kendra said. "I don't know if it's the right idea. I find you very sexy and I don't know how to deal with it, because I never found a woman sexy before."

"I see," Marta said. "After I come down from this buzz, we should talk about it. Right now, let's go enjoy the concert."

The hall was small, situated in a tessellated rectangle of pavement and looked very well designed acoustically. That aside, Kendra didn't like the concert. The hall was clouded with smoke from a variety of substances. The audience screamed and yelled at the tops of their voices. The music was too loud, as well as being dissonant, complicated and in weird scales. The three musicians had an amazing array of instruments, from archaic strung guitars and similar items she couldn't name, to electric and fiber-optic versions of the same, synths, glockenspiels, marimbas, electronic and acoustic drums and ethnic percussion and a dizzying collection of other gear including a hammer dulcimer. She missed the simple, fun melodies of Earth Phillippian and case music or even the mellow classical tones of death metal and swing jazz. Marta was having a great time, apparently. She yelled, laughed, sang along, wrestled with other attendees and even spent several segs in an almost sexual encounter with one man. Ever the businesswoman, she handed him her card as she wiggled away, giving him a final quick but thorough grope. The div-long show seemed to last forever and Kendra's hearing was noticeably reduced as they wandered out afterward.

Marta was laughing and Kendra had to keep her steady as they returned to the car. "You f-fly," Marta suggested.

"I think we should wait until you straighten out," Kendra replied. She wasn't up to driving a strange car on a strange road at night with no traffic laws. Flying with no automatic sounded deadly.

"Tingleweed, pixie dust, three stiff drinks, a stiff cock I almost downed," she broke into laughter again, "and a violet zap. You fly."

"Ohh-kay," Kendra reluctantly agreed. She got the car started and cautiously pulled out of the dirt area onto the hardpan road, which was apocalyptically black. She lifted aloft hesitantly and followed the glow of Jefferson to the south. There was a standard beacon, but only as a guide, no way to slave to it. The only light was stars and the moon Gealach, which was unnerving. She did feel safer airborne, with less to collide with. She spent several segs getting used to the controls and the outrageous amount of dynes escaping from the engine. The impellers were very responsive and she enjoyed it once she was used to it, despite her leeriness. One didn't get to fly often on Earth, and certainly not manually.

She turned on the receiver, sound only, and found a talk show to keep her company as she flew. She couldn't handle most of the music but the talk had sucked her in at once.

"—UN is that they don't grasp the basis of our system, either politically or socially," a speaker said.

"No," argued another. "The problem is that they grasp
exactly
what we stand for and can't allow it to exist. It's a pattern repeated through history. We don't fit with the majority position, are successful despite that, and that creates a threat to their system, because they can't insist to the peasants that they live in the best of all possible worlds when we're doing better than they."

Kendra's thoughts were that most people on Earth—she couldn't speak for Space Nations—had no real idea the Freehold existed in the fashion it did. She snapped back to attention when the second debater said, "—there's going to be a war about it sooner or later."

"I disagree," argued the first. "It's a simple lack of empathy but not critical."

"Car, sound off!" she ordered, and it went silent. She was getting sick of alleged experts about Earth who'd never been there. And talk of war was silly.

As she took them silently back to Jefferson, she was passed by most of the light traffic heading south and was a shaking bundle of nerves as they neared the outskirts. She gratefully landed on a ramp at the ring road, switched from impellers to wheels and took the ground route. Glancing over, she saw that Marta was still asleep, as she had been for most of the trip.

"Hey, you," she said. "Wake up."

"Okay," Marta agreed, stretching. "I'll give you directions."

"How do you feel?" Kendra asked.

A sadistic streak in her was disappointed when Marta replied sincerely, "Wonderful. I really needed that. I'm sorry it wasn't to your liking."

"I thought it was interesting. The food was good. And I was glad to see some more of the planet. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Left at the sig."

Marta directed her through downtown, still hectic even at 8:70, which was really not that late for social activity, Kendra thought. Business was still in full swing, however. The day's heat was gone and people were wrapped in cloaks as protection against the coming chill. The crowd thinned with the buildings and soon Kendra was driving into the wealthy section called Harbor Hills. She was glad to get into quiet streets; manual control in traffic was nerve-wracking.

She parked under the huge house, allowed Marta to lead her inside, then stared around in shock. She'd thought Marta lived with her family, but she was obviously the only resident. It came to her that Rob had very simple tastes, reserving his money for his hoped-for eventual Citizenship, while Marta lived a more flamboyant life. Well, that fitted her occupation and personality.

Marta took her cloak, led her into a sunken living area with a cathedral ceiling, disappeared and returned in moments with wine and goblets. She poured two tall, slender glasses of "Violet," and Kendra took one. She raised the glass to her lips and tasted it.

It was a sweet wine with a powerful bouquet and her mouth erupted with the taste of fruit and flowers. As she swallowed, it seemed to evaporate straight into her brain and the residue created a pleasant warmth as it went down. She looked around at the decorations; mostly large starscapes, all signed originals. The furnishings were in soft earth tones. A few tasteful sculptures sat on low marble tables and a cut-crystal cabinet contained rare geologic pieces from several planets and systems. Overhead, a chandelier was hand wrought in iron and bronze. It was finally hitting Kendra that Marta was really, really, rich.

"Actually, I have
another
ulterior motive in asking you here," Marta smiled, removing her jewelry.

"Oh?" Kendra prompted, tearing her eyes away from the magnificent room.

"I have a weeklong assignment coming up, as guide and escort to a visiting Earth dignitary. I want to dig through your brain for further background," she explained. "If you do me that favor, I'll give you a rundown on toys and techniques. There's this one thing I know makes Rob squeal . . . Anyway, we could call it a fair trade, consultation for consultation."

"So I am a professional advisor on Earth, now?" Kendra grinned. "I hate to break it to you, but I only have firsthand experience on one continent, in three particular areas, and I was a child when we lived in two of them."

"It'll help. And you ought to load up an ad as a consultant. If one customer calls, you've covered the cost. The second one is money in your pocket," Marta advised.

Kendra realized that this young woman with only twenty-two Earth years could probably buy her contract out of petty cash. The advice was worth taking and she let it percolate in the back of her mind. Thinking as she went, she began talking about Earth: Her childhood, schooling, social life, politics, business, cultural jokes and clichés. Some of those Marta understood with adequate explanation, others were apparently lost in translation. Marta asked a lot of questions about social issues, such as music, sports, film, individual entertainment and of course, sex.

Kendra gave a lot of detail and poured out a lot of repressed feelings. She gave Marta an edited story of her departure, wishing she could tell more, and found herself crying, partly in anger, partly out of homesickness. "I can't ever go home again," she wept.

Marta began massaging her head and neck, and it did help. Kendra asked some questions and Marta explained her background. Her military training was in emergency medicine. Her private education included physical therapy, psychology, music, dance and business. Exactly the education a personal escort in a culture like this needed. Kendra wondered why so few societies treated prostitutes as anything more than convenient sex toys. Marta apparently sometimes earned more in a day than Kendra did in a month and no one tried to haggle over her rates. She claimed her reputation as a social companion was known citywide, and indeed, several framed newsprints showed her with various prominent people at major functions. The pictures were obviously taken with consent and the men in question seemed proud of her presence. Kendra was shocked to find that there were schools that actually taught lab courses in sexuality. Marta was a visiting faculty member at one of them several times a year.

"Do you get female clients?" Kendra asked. Marta was massaging her back, having taken her tunic off, and was working lower. She was using oil that tingled gently, warming the skin.

"Rarely. Women don't usually have a problem finding company of either sex. When I do get them, they are usually celebrating something very special and sometimes ask for a male and female couple. Even if it's just me, they spare no expense—food, liquor, intoxicants, neither of which I touch, expensive suites. They're a lot of fun."

"Do you enjoy sex with clients?" Now nude, her thighs and calves were being kneaded. Kendra was very relaxed, but not sleepy. Marta definitely knew what she was doing.

"Usually. Some I have to work at, some I simply blacklist after one encounter—I get about sixty-percent repeat business. And I always have the option of leaving, since my base fee is just to show up. From there I charge all I can get. But only about thirty-five percent are calls for sex. About fifty percent are massage, conversation and some posing or dancing. Fifteen percent are social functions," Marta explained while working on Kendra's feet. She gave some kind of subliminal signal and Kendra turned over. The massage started again.

Kendra felt Marta's skilled fingers on her cheeks and ears. They drifted over her jaw and pulled lightly at the skin of her shoulders while Marta kneeled next to her, staring into her eyes. Kendra stared back briefly, then averted her eyes, looking everywhere except at Marta, finally closing them and relaxing. She tensed and inhaled as fingers stroked the sides of her breasts.

"Tell me if you're uncomfortable," Marta said.

"It's . . . interesting, but I'm not used to it," Kendra replied.

"Want me to stop?"

"Not yet. What do you want to do?"

"Make love to you," Marta said, staring into her eyes with a smoldering intensity.

Kendra had been expecting a response along those lines and took a deep breath. Calming her racing heart a little, she said, "I don't know how."

"That's fine. Or are you saying 'no'?" Marta asked.

Thinking furiously or trying to, Kendra said, "Why don't you keep doing what you're doing and we'll see how I react." The attention, the drink . . . was this real?

"Okay," Marta agreed and resumed kneading. Her touch became lighter, more caressing, and traced the lines of Kendra's jaw. Her hands moved over Kendra's collar bones and across her shoulders, following the curve of muscles. Eventually, they were trailing along the swell of her breasts again. Kendra tensed at first, then relaxed. It was a pleasant sensation.

Marta was fantastic with her hands and mouth, she decided, and her collection of toys, both automatic and manual, would take some getting used to. She accepted the attention and was able to reciprocate.
The fact that I'm doing this again,
she thought,
means that it's not bad. But it's not something I'm going to get used to quickly.
She shuddered as a wave of pleasure passed through her, triggered by a warm, sensual device riding low between her thighs. It throbbed and pulsed, time changing to match her shaking muscles, and she bit her lip. She closed her eyes, reached out with hands and lips and drew Marta in close, her attention splitting to enjoy the old-fashioned sensation of fingers through her hair.

Moments later, she noticed that Marta was shaking furiously, her breath in gasps. The elegantly kept hands wrapped deep in her hair and pulled her tight between thighs corded with muscle. She felt another tingle, not quite orgasmic, and let her hands drift and tease.

Later, as they sprawled together on a deep, soft divan, Marta reached an arm around her, kissed her gently and said, "You have a marvelously sexy body. And you use it well."

"Thank you," Kendra replied, still nervous about meeting those intense, spearing eyes.

"Thank
you
. You're the most exciting woman I've met in months." Marta stretched out, her compact figure rippling. She reminded Kendra of a cat.

"It was . . . interesting," Kendra agreed. "I don't know when or if I'll do it again."

"Tell me about it," Marta encouraged.

Thinking for a moment, Kendra said, "Sometimes, it almost felt as if I was watching someone else. It felt . . . weird. Not what I expected."

"And what were you expecting?"

"How would I know?" Kendra admitted, "But that wasn't it." They both grinned and kissed again. "But thanks for a very educational evening."

"Sure. Come on, I'll show you upstairs," Marta said with a nod of her head. "My bed's plenty big enough."

Marta's phone woke them before the alarm. "Line three. Line three. Line three . . ."

Groaning, Marta sat up and ordered, "Answer phone voice line three Hernandez."

Kendra heard a vaguely familiar voice say, "Hi, Mar, sorry to wake you. Can you talk?"

"What about, Dad? I have company."

"Sorry, I'll be brief. Your Earth client has cut the Halo tour short. We expect him sometime today or tomorrow."

"Right. I'll get ready and call you back."