John Ringo: Emerald Sea

“They don’t,” Paul replied. “We have a very good source close to their Council. But the problem is…”

“You’re tensing up again,” Megan warned. “Talk, don’t tense.”

“The problem is that if he feels he can go his way, the others will too,” Paul snarled.

“Calm,” Megan said. “Shuuuh. Talk it out.”

“I’m holding a tiger by the tail, honey,” Paul said, rolling out from under her and sitting up. “The council members that side with me don’t understand the importance. Really, only Minjie ever did. Celine wanted to be able to make her damned abominations. Chansa… Chansa just wants power, direct power. The kind that the Council couldn’t really wield before the Fall. Reyes has his… girls.” Paul stopped and looked to the side, shaking his head. “Every time I come in here I think of the… the horror that they are suffering and it just makes me want to throttle that perverted bastard.”

“You need some more massage, Mister Paul, sir,” Megan said, grabbing him by the shoulder and pushing him facedown again. “So how do you keep them in line?”

“Subtly,” Paul muttered. “For one thing, all their guards are bound to me. They didn’t notice at first and since they have I’ve been quite pleasant but very definite about it. The thing is, if one of them decides to defy me, I can take them out at any time. Furthermore, it’s my guards who hold the power plants and my word that locks the shields. And I’m very careful to remain shielded myself. When I’m in here, no one can enter or leave and there’s a shield up to ensure that. But this Patala bastard had all my guards killed and refuses to have them replaced. He doesn’t have access to much power; I could destroy him in an instant. But I’m afraid if I do, it will cause the others to react.”

“How was Minjie killed?” Megan asked. She lay down on his back, pressing her breasts into his muscles and rolling them around. “Now, doesn’t that feel better?”

“Oh, very much so,” Paul said, rolling over.

She mounted him, smiling sweetly, trying hard to enjoy it enough to get moist and started moving up and down. To her surprise she actually did start to enjoy herself, at least partially because she was looking at his unguarded neck. She clamped down on him and leaned in, stroking up and down, imagining cracking his hyoid bone and watching him choke to death on his own blood. When she realized she was finding sexual pleasure in the thought, she tried to think of something, anything, else.

“How was Minjie killed?” she asked, panting.

“You want to know now ?” Paul gasped.

“Um, hmmm.”

“Binary toxin,” Paul said. “Part in his food, part in his wine. By the time the nannites could react, he was already effectively dead.” He rolled her over and began thrusting until he came and collapsed onto her, burying his face against her neck.

“Kill him,” she said, grabbing his hair and pulling his head back to where she could look in his eyes. “Have him assassinated. Quietly. Then make a deal with his aide. Don’t fuck with me, I won’t kill you.”

“How?” Paul asked as he drew out of her.

She knew the answer but wasn’t about to tell him.

“That should be easy to figure out,” Megan said. “Have Celine do it.”

“Hmmm…”

“There,” she said, using a corner of a towel to wipe herself, “don’t you feel better?”

“Yes,” he replied, kissing her on the lips and running his tongue into her mouth. He needed to use a toothbrush and he smelled. “Thank you.”

“I live to serve,” she said, running her hands over the back of his neck. She knew damned well how she would kill this unnamed usurper. The only problem was escaping after she did it.

Paul returned over the next three days in quick succession, each time looking more worn and wan. Each time he chose at least one of the girls, sometimes two. Twice in the three days it was Megan, to her well-hidden disgust.

After the quick succession of visits Paul didn’t come back for two weeks and then another long pause of almost a month. The last visit he bedded Ashly and Velva, one of Ashly’s little clique, giving them something to talk about for days .

This pattern continued for months. From time to time one of the girls would begin showing signs of being pregnant and after a brief check by Christel she would be whisked out of the harem and into the confinement quarters.

Each month, Megan secretly prayed that she wouldn’t be one of them. If she was taken out of the harem, away from her “experiments,” away from the books that at least gave her a few hours of work during the week, if she was simply cooped up and fed like some damned brood mare, she was sure she would go completely insane.

She wondered, as the time passed, about the pregnancy rate. She had spent enough time on the outside to know that farmers’ wives spent most of their time “knocked up.” But over a six-month period, only two of the girls tested pregnant. A similar group on the outside would be at least an order of magnitude more efficient as “breeders.”

But given Paul’s infrequent visits, the rate was not so surprising. A couple of visits a month, one maybe two of the girls “taken” at apparent random and there was no way that the rate was going to be much higher. And he was getting to be in terrible shape. She had to wonder if his nannites were bothering to maintain his sperm count. It was just another of Paul’s studied blindnesses. He had a “duty” to perform, even if he was performing it badly. The fact that this “duty” happened to be sex with voluptuous young females, none of whom had a say in the matter, was quite beside the point, of course. It was just another proof that Paul was absolutely crackers.

But, as the time went on, despite the many things she now had to occupy her, Megan looked forward to his infrequent visits. The disgust was starting to fade and that terrified her. By the sixth month of captivity, she was beginning to look forward to the act, to the sex. It no longer felt like rape and she was horrified that she was actually starting to enjoy Paul’s company. He was smart, very smart, and when he did bother to talk he was interesting. The chance to know something of what was happening outside the harem was delightful. To listen to the intrigues that were going on among the New Destiny faction and, from time to time, to hear about the actions of the Freedom Coalition that fought against them.

What was even more horrible was, she began to enjoy him as a bed partner and he definitely seemed to prefer her to the other girls. The dreams continued but more and more they tended to be erotic rather than nightmares. Or, they were nightmares, because the dreams never really changed; she’d see his face above her, taking her. But the fear and anger and disgust drained out of them as time went by. The helplessness was still there, but something in her was changing. When she had him at her relative mercy, she no longer looked at him as a target. The plans were still there, remaining in the background, waiting the proper time, but she no longer thought of killing him when he was inside her. She wanted him. And she hated herself for it.

“Here it is,” Megan said, holding up a small bottle filled with yellow liquid.

The still-room was now filled with odd scents, a complex of strong musk, rose water and an undertinge of sulfur. Ceramic bowls bubbled over charcoal braziers and a small complex of distilling equipment dripped liquid into a small glass jar. The end of the table was covered in a pile of spices and several sealed bottles were scattered around them.