Human After All (6 page)

“You’re a Thoroughbred,” Brandel said. “You’ve never known life outside the Cloister, is that right?”

“I was conceived in the Outers.” An odd calm had come over Jaymes as he accepted that he had no control. He breathed in and out and answered with absolute candor.

“But you were delivered in the Cloister by a Gentren obgine and raised by Gentren staff, yes?”

“Yes.”

The D.P. shook his head in disapproval. “They might as well start breeding your sort. Or do they already? It wouldn’t surprise me to find that Gentren is manipulating the more attractive Outties to rut and reproduce.”

“That’s against the law.”

“I’m guessing you haven’t had much contact with criminals. In fact, I’ve heard that it isn’t possible for a Thoroughbred Class Companion to have a duplicitous thought.”

“Not quite true. We can have the thoughts, but are inhibited from acting on them.”

“That’s inhuman,” Ampery said as his desires warred with his common sense. Not once in the quarter of a century since he’d first held a public office had he given in to his cravings. He brought himself off manually each night at the same time, only in the shower, in a joyless release of tension and seed. The temptation represented by this flawless, acquiescent piece of Bioware was so great that that he knew he’d been right to avoid contact until now. His pulse rate was elevated, and he found he was short of breath when he spoke again.

“This is a very interesting situation.” The D.P. walked a circuit around Jaymes until he faced the T-bred again. “I’m certain you have a jack-beacon implanted somewhere under your skin, but that isn’t much use in this room. You’re not even officially here. I believe I may do as I wish with impunity, if I’m clever enough to dispose of you in a way that cannot be connected to me. Fortunately, Speaker Londean has provided me with a very plausible scapegoat in the form of his well-known weakness for your type. And who will believe I had anything to do with your disappearance? Everyone knows I don’t mingle with Bioware.” The Deep paused. “Are you frightened?”

“Of course I am.”

“So there are no inhibitions on your emotions, only your actions. How convenient, perhaps too convenient, but if you are a trap, you should know that whatever plan you have is doomed to failure. Just because my guards are not present doesn’t mean I’m not protected.”

“I understand. I have no plans to harm you,” Jaymes said with patent sincerity. He didn’t intend to do anything inimical, and his new programming was not accessible to him. Whatever happened would be as big a surprise to him as it would be to the Deep.

“I could be throwing away everything I’ve worked for three decades to build, but that thought only excites me more. I wonder if I might be going mad.”

Jaymes shivered as Ampery ran a dry palm over his shoulder and down his chest to his groin. The politician handled the young man’s cock and balls with all the passion of a cook testing a piece of fruit for ripeness. Without warning, the D.P. squeezed hard, making Jaymes wince, and finally a spark of genuine warmth lit the politician’s black eyes.

“That hurts,” the Companion said.

“I thought it might, but I appreciate the confirmation. I wasn’t sure if you felt pain the way real people do.”

“I’m a real person.”

“I’m sure that lie is a comfort to you, but we both know it’s not true. I’ll prove it to you. On your knees. Now.”

Jaymes knelt.

“You see? You’re product. You come with an operating manual. How could you ever think you were a true human?”

“You’re wrong. I’m as human as you are, and someday I’ll be a Citizen too.”

“No, you will not. After what we’re going to do together, you cannot be allowed to live.” Brandel gave Jaymes another slap, evening out the angry red splotches on the Companion’s pale cheeks. “I’m really going to enjoy this,” he said. “And it might take a while because I don’t know when such an opportunity will present itself again. Maybe after I’m President-General.”

“I hope that never happens.”

The Deputy President grasped a fistful of Jaymes’s long thick hair, pulling his head up. “Perfect,” he said in answer to the Companion’s verbal defiance. “Now, go over to the table. No, don’t stand. Crawl to the table.” Switching his grip to the back of Jaymes’s neck, Brandel applied pressure, pushing the T-bred’s face to the polished surface. “It’s always been a pet peeve of mine the way you Thoroughbreds strut around as though you’re the equal of any Citizen. I know that haughtiness is part of your conditioning, but it still gets under my skin, and now I’m going to get under yours.”

“You’re a monster.”

“Oh, very good, that is delicious irony. The incubus calls me a monster. Do you know who subverted your programming with the compulsion sequence?”

“Lady Alvera of House Cygne.”

“Interesting, but not unexpected,” Brandel said as he opened his robe and trousers. “I’ll make sure she goes down in the scandal with Londean. I’m sure her trial will make people question the wisdom of letting Bioware become Citizens.”

With fatalistic logic, Jaymes admitted the Deep was right, and his first thought was of Valens. “You’ll ruin several lives for a few minutes of pleasure?”

“It will be more than a few minutes, I assure you.”

Jaymes was prepared to beg when he felt the displaced air of a security door opening, and the D.P. turned to reprimand his guards. The T-bred realized he had an opportunity while Brandel was distracted, and hard on the heels of that thought, the final component of the compulsion clicked into place. Surging up from his knees, Jaymes spun, extending his arm in a flashing arc, bringing the tips of his fingers across the Deep’s throat. Nails dug deep, cutting channels in flesh that allowed the blood to flow freely. Brandel clutched at his neck, reeling back, as Drue grasped Jaymes by the wrist. Jaymes stared at the Deputy President on the floor with blood pouring through the inadequate dam of his fingers.

“Come on,” the Fox said. “We have to get out of here.”

Jaymes stared numbly at the fallen Citizen in the rapidly spreading pool of blood until Drue yanked him out the door. The bodies of two of the Deep’s Combat-Ulteems lay in the hallway, and Jaymes could see a third CU lying just inside the door of Speaker Londean’s salon. The fourth was engaged in a hand-to-hand battle with Valens, who stood his ground over Cade’s motionless form. A few feet away, Parry was draped limply over a chair, a wet stain spreading on the back of his coat. Drue engaged Valens’s opponent in a flurry of flying limbs so swift that the motions look blurred. The minder moved back, stumbled over the body of his colleague, and lost his balance. As Drue and Valens sprang to follow up this advantage, the CU rolled away and came up on one knee with his comrade’s sidearm.

“No,” Jaymes shouted as though he could command the bolt that flew from the end of the guard’s weapon.

The eye-searing icicle of plasma struck Valens in the left side just under his ribcage. The Companion’s sweet features wore a look of utter wonder as he took a half step back and crumpled over his patron’s prone form. “Cade,” he said with his last breath, reaching for Londean’s hand.

Jaymes flung himself down beside Valens as the light left his friend’s eyes. No one he cared for had ever died before, and he had the mad notion that it wasn’t too late to turn back the clock. He stared into the other T-bred’s sightless gaze until Drue pulled him to his feet. Jaymes saw the broken body of the last guard lying at Parry’s feet like a parody of a sleeping dog, and a small laugh leaked from between his stiff lips.

“Don’t you fragging dare!” Drue hissed. “I need you alert and paying attention if we’re going to get out of here alive.”

Jaymes focused on the Exotic. “We haven’t a chance.”

“Not if you give up before the game’s over. Come on. Let’s at least try and make it to the Veetle port before more See Youz show up.”

Jaymes looked around at the carnage. “This is too big,” he said. “They’ll find us, and we’ll be blamed for this mess.”

“This was planned, remember?” Drue grabbed Jaymes by the jaw and stared into his eyes for a count of three heartbeats. “Are you with me?” he asked. “I know you were coerced into your role, but you’re in it now, and you might as well start dealing with it. We can both sit down and wait for Metropol, or we can run.”

“It’s pointless.”

Drue lost patience. It would be smarter to stick with the plan and leave the subverted T-bred on his own, but the Fox couldn’t do it. Despite his instructions, he couldn’t run and leave Jaymes to face the storm alone, but neither could he kill him. Snatching up an overcoat from where it had fallen, Drue wrapped it around the other Companion and led him down the hall. The plan was in shambles; the man he’d vowed to save was gone along with the one who was targeted for death, and he had to navigate the event of the Cloister social season to get to an exit. “You aren’t required to like it.” Drue recited Lady Alvera’s favorite phrase as he changed course and entered the warren of service corridors.

J
AYMES
stopped in his tracks as he saw someone moving in the Veetle’s hatch. He was relieved when Alvera turned and gestured emphatically.

“I’ve keyed in the command code,” she said briskly. “No questions. Go!”

Jaymes reacted to her order immediately. He was in the pilot’s seat almost before she finished speaking, the pilot program in his wetware coming to the fore as he gripped the joystick.

“I’m sorry I disobeyed your—” Drue began before Alvera cut him off.

“It’s all right. I’m actually proud of you for saving the Prince. It says more than you know about your humanity. Now go. I’ll stay and make excuses.”

Drue paused to look back. “Good luck, Lady,” he said, knowing how inadequate the words were, but there was no time for more.

The hatch was closing, and Drue hurriedly buckled into the nav harness as the Veetle lifted off. Movement around the roof access door drew the Exotic’s attention, and he saw a burly figure in the matte material of a CU cov-ops uniform emerge from the shadows. Alvera turned and dropped into attack stance as the gray-clad assassin lunged at her. Nothing of the Combat-Ulteem’s features showed except for his eyes above the scarf that masked the lower half of his face. The CU’s gaze flicked up at the departing Veetle for a nanosecond, but Drue would never forget the pale eyes as cold and devoid of softness as a pair of polished agates. Time began moving forward again as the assassin broke Alvera’s neck almost as an afterthought on his way to his goal. The CU leaped to the top of a decorative spire, and Drue’s paralysis broke.

“Faster,” he urged Jaymes. “Make this thing go faster.”

“What?” Jaymes looked at Drue and followed the line of the Exotic’s gaze as the CU launched himself into space. The last vestiges of the T-bred’s trance of unreality blew away in a blast of adrenalin as he punched a button on the emergency display. The sleek little craft seemed to gather itself and then bolted like a rock from a slingshot. Something thumped against the tail as the cityscape fell away at an alarming rate, and Jaymes had to swallow his heart back down to its rightful place when he finally regained control. “Who was that?” he gasped as the Veetle’s flight smoothed out.

“I can’t be sure, but he looked like Alvera’s new footman. And he was wearing military issue.”

“Murd!” Jaymes cursed as he narrowly missed a collision with a high-altitude beacon-buoy. “Where the messhig are we?”

“Why don’t you look at the nav panel?”

“Why don’t you?” Jaymes glanced at the other Companion’s pale face. “Are you all right?”

“Not even close. I’m just beginning to realize what Alvera’s death means. We’re meat.”

“I know. In fact, I told you so.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a jeedee genius. Now frij and give me a minute to think.”

“We don’t have a minute. We’re coming up on the first border.”

“Cross it.”

“You want me to leave the Cloister?”

“Yes. Do it.”

“Without a Citizen escort?”

“What choice do we have? As long as we’re In-Bounds, Metropol can find us simply by asking Gentren where we are. If we go into the Cities, it will take a little longer for them to track us.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“That’s because you don’t know about the Jammerz.”

“Tell me now,” Jaymes said, slowing the Veetle. “Or I turn back and find the nearest Lofficer. Maybe they’ll believe my story and exonerate me.”

“Londean and the Deep are both dead—among various others. The authorities will destroy you on sight. You know I’m right.”

Jaymes’s knuckles went pale where he gripped the controls. The Zot was right, and even if he hadn’t been, the compulsion program was still running, and Jaymes found it hard to disagree with it. It was an effort to keep from engaging the accelerator as Drue wished. Somewhat less than three hours ago, Jaymes had been certain of who he was and what his future held, and now he was free-falling as surely as if he’d fallen out of the Veetle.

“The Jammerz are Pygmalions who figured a way to screen Gentren’s probes and deflect them,” Drue was saying. “Of course, that alerts Gentren to their location, and they have to move a lot, but if we can find them, it would give us a chance to….”

“To what?”

“To get away,” Drue answered.

Jaymes was sure the Exotic had been about to say something else, but he didn’t push the issue just then. Resetting the speed parameters, he nudged the craft into flight again. A few moments later, accompanied by the soft chiming of the boundary alarm, they crossed from The Cloister to the Inner City of the metacorps’ self-contained business compounds where company workers were born and died without ever leaving their confines.

A
FTER
several seconds of uneventful flight, Jaymes was starting to relax, but his relief was short-lived. A sexless, disembodied voice emerged from the Veetle’s speakers, apologized, and requested the verification code of their travel path.

“Ignore it,” Drue said. “Go high.”

Jaymes adjusted the pitch of the stabilizers and applied power. As the Veetle rose, the voice faded to a faint whine. “What now?”