Fic: Scratch (5/?)
Title: Scratch Part 5
Characters: John Hart, Blowfish, Woman from KKBB, numerous OCs
Rating: HARD NC-17 (see warnings)
Summary: A retelling of the Faust myth using TW characters.
Disclaimer: All canon characters are property of the BBC, all OCs are my own, and Faust is the property of Mephistopheles.
WARNING: The Faust myth is a story about dealing with the devil. As such, this is an extremely dark and mature work of fiction. Specific warnings for this chapter include assault, hitmen, murder, and weapons trafficking.
As always, kind thanks to
used_songs and
invisible_lift for the beta reading.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
If the ride to that...that torture pit had seemed long, the ride back seemed longer. Fjoaan Tsuhn wanted to leap free of the transport and get away from her, get away from John Hart.
He was glad that Laaessy was safely in their own private section of the transport where he didn't have to look at her. He shook where he stood, violent tremors of rage and revulsion racking his body as he cursed John Hart and Laaessy under his breath in his own tongue. “Sick evil sulphur-breathing tubeworms, not even fit to shuffle shards of glass to the lava...”
Right about the time he had called Laaessy a Sjoeltjie, waving his spines in frustration, he saw a flash of black out of the corner of his eye. Something hard and painful pressed down on his back, right over a poison gland. Venom dripped down his longest spine.
Oolyllyr laughed as he licked the spine clean of poison. “You're so easy, fish face.”
Dangerous rage burst free into violence. Fjoaan Tsuhn spun around and drove a wrist spine deep into Oolyllyr's shoulder, causing orange-red blood blossomed from the hole in his flesh. “I told you not to call me that.”
Maddeningly, Oolyllyr only laughed again, and threw Fjoaan Tsuhn down to the floor. “I told you not to fuck with me.”
Oolyllyr spun him onto his dorsal side and pressed him face-down into the floor panels. While Fjoaan Tsuhn struggled against him, Oolyllyr pressed down against the base of another spine. The bastard is milking me, Fjoaan Tsuhn realized, and redoubled his efforts to get free.
Oolyllyr was too big and too heavy. Curling up in the defensive posture would be admitting defeat, and there was no way he was going to let that hairy black monster win.
Venom trickled down the spine. He could feel Oolyllyr's hot damp breath near the tip.
You might be bigger, but you aren't very smart. Fjoaan Tsuhn pulled the spine halfway in and pushed out a tiny bit more venom. Come on, you know you want to. Come on. GOOD boy.
When he felt Oolyllyr's tongue slide over the tip of the spine, he thrust it out as hard as he could, impaling Oolyllyr's tongue on the roof of his mouth. The Caynnyd screamed loud and shrilly. Fjoaan Tsuhn thrust more spines out as hard as he could, feeling one catch in soft tissue of some kind, and then bellowed with pain as Oolyllyr broke off the top of one spine with his teeth.
“Tubeworm!” Moving as quickly as he could, he retracted his spines, spun around, and grabbed the broken tip out of Oolyllyr's mouth. “And you're the one with the brains in the family?”
Oolyllyr's eyes were narrowed into slits and all his fur was standing straight on end, making him look roughly double his normal size. He spat blood at Fjoaan Tsuhn, aiming for his eyes and just missing. Hot reddish liquid dripped over his gill covers, making him gag and choke.
Oolyllyr took the advantage, lunging at him, growling, and cursing. “Too slow, chew toy.”
Fjoaan Tsuhn ducked and slashed at Oolyllyr's leg with the broken spine, only to miss and get raked across the chest by one set of foreclaws. He doubled over, shooting out his spines to protect his back, and shot as much venom as he could into the hairy black face. “Didn't anybody ever teach you it's not nice to spit?”
Oolyllyr hissed in surprise and began shaking his head. He flailed out blindly, striking Fjoaan Tsuhn across the face with his claws as he fell forward.
The formless, incandescent rage that had so consumed him earlier suddenly found its focus. He wanted Oolyllyr down on his hands and knees begging for mercy. To see him whining and whimpering for his life, just so that there would always be one Caynnyd who would always bow down before him. Even if he would up being Laaessy's intelligent footstool or fuckbench, there would still be one of these furry black bastards who had fallen onto his knees.
Fjoaan Tsuhn held the broken spine like a dagger and lunged at Oolyllyr.
Spine met chest fur. It pierced the skin, not deeply, but deeply enough to wound. Fjoaan Tsuhn dragged his makeshift knife down Oolyllyr's front, just like John Hart had done to him that night in the bed. More fury bubbled out at that memory, and he dragged the knife down harder, then slashed it upwards to meet the shoulder wound from wrist-spine.
Oolyllyr was still trying to blink the venom from his eyes while fighting its effect. The stink of mating pheromone was beginning to pour unbidden off him, and between that and the blood and the acid scent of venom he was a nasty one-creature version of the losing side of the evening's entertainment. Fjoaan Tsuhn found himself suddenly very weary of fighting and simply kicked Oolyllyr to his knees. He grabbed Oolyllyr's lower jaw, wrenched it up, and held the broken spine against the clean-shaven throat.
A tiny spark of fear flickered in Oolyllyr's eyes.
That was all Fjoaan Tsuhn needed to see. He had won.
“Next time, ask nicely.” Fjoaan Tsuhn shoved him roughly backwards and went to stand in his appointed spot. After a moment, Oolyllyr rose to his feet, winced at the pain in his front and shoulder, and staggered to his post.
The taste in his mouth was a bitter chemical mixture of his own ichor and Oolyllyr's blood and exhaustion and power.
*****
John Hart didn't say anything about the pools of dried blood or the bleeding bodyguards when they arrived at the Light-bearer two hours later. Dodging the worst of the wreckage, he took the broken spine from Fjoaan Tsuhn's foreflipper and began to play with it.
And then Laaessy complained about the mess.
Fjoaan Tsuhn found himself swinging from the rack on the ceiling that John Hart normally dangled from, limbs stretched out like a star, with Oolyllyr's back pressed to his own and Laaessy scourging both of them. John Hart sipped his spiked wine and proclaimed it an excellent show. From the smell of both of them, they'd be fucking each other and Oolyllyr in a little bit, and Fjoaan Tsuhn would be sentient furniture again.
The Light-bearer was leaving tomorrow at nightfall, and with luck, Fjoaan Tsuhn would never set foot on this planet again. As soon as this delivery was over with, he was going to buy his way out of his contract and get as far away from John Hart as he possibly could. He closed his eyes and thought of his future as a jeweler on the cold wall.
A smile spread across his face while the lashes tore into his flesh.
*****
John Hart was sitting at a table in the casino bar, drinking some hot beverage or other. It smelled lovely. John Hart said that back on Old Earth, where Earth-humans were from, the drink was made from the fruit of a tropical tree and that it had been sacred to a tribe of people who held live sacrifices of their own kind. Another Earth-human religious thing...they seemed to have as many religions as they had colour variations, and they had a lot of colour morphs. It also happened to be a favourite drink of Earth-human women.
Fjoaan Tsuhn couldn't understand why Earth-human women might like something that could get them sacrificed alive, but then again, he was pondering quite possibly the most bizarre species in the galaxy.
They'd made the time/space jump from Laaessy's holdings to the appointed delivery spot, a rowdy casino on a mostly boreal planet. John Hart and another Earth-human he'd met by chance in the bar were talking and laughing over their drinks. The other Earth-human, who appeared to be several years older than John Hart, had a matching wrist strap and had its grizzled head-fur cut in a similar manner. He also had a matching pong of time travel about him. Whoever he was, he and John Hart clearly knew one another, and from the sounds of their words they were gossiping.
Fjoaan Tsuhn was sitting at a table off to the side as usual, able to see and hear but not catch the entire conversation. He had a plate of food in front of him, a glass of plain water, and something John had called a racing form. John had told him to read the form, walk to the window every fifteen minutes, and place a bet on the ones John had circled well in advance. Fjoaan Tsuhn didn't know what “the races” were, but he suspected that John knew the outcomes in advance. He didn't especially care, and liked that he got to keep any of the winnings for himself.
He hoped he'd have some time off to explore the casino later that evening. He'd never been to one before, and what he saw all looked like great fun.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted three Earth-human males acting strangely. After three hurricane seasons in prison, seven hurricane seasons as a guard at the waste treatment plant, and now seven galactic months with John Hart, Fjoaan Tsuhn recognized trouble in its native habitat. Sure enough, they were headed for the table where John Hart sat.
John Hart noticed them as well. He was unarmed, as one of the conditions of entrance to the casino was checking one's weaponry at the door. Fjoaan Tsuhn watched John Hart and his companion, careful to not make eye contact or give himself away.
One of the men came up behind John Hart, companionable and happy, and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “John! Long time, no see. Come with me, let's go get a drink at the bar. My treat.”
“I'm having a drink with my friend here. Was having a perfectly nice time of it, too, till you showed up. Piss off.”
“Do you really mean that? I think you should come have a drink with us.”
By now, John Hart's companion was slinking back toward the wall, holding his beverage glass as if he planned to smash it. Almost time to intervene.
John Hart tipped up his chin and answered, “Either you're daft or you're blind. Can't you see I'm busy here? Now go away.” He took another sip of his drink.
The other two men pulled blasters from their coats and aimed them at John Hart's face. The peacekeepers at the bar noticed the disturbance, yelled at the men, and began running for them.
Too late. As soon as he saw the weapons, Fjoaan Tsuhn thrust out his spines through a strategically-placed busk in his garment, letting fly a venomous volley that hit each man in the eyes. They fell backwards, screaming and clutching their faces.
With a clatter of shaken porcelain on jostled tables, three peacekeepers arrived. One of them looked at Fjoaan Tsuhn, John Hart, and the stranger. He leaned down to the nearest man's face, smelled the liquid, and asked, “That was your natural defense against predators, wasn't it, fish face?”
Fjoaan Tsuhn nodded.
“Any reason you shot it at predators who weren't hunting you?”
John Hart answered. “He's my hired guard.”
The men had stopped screaming and were moaning with broken sobs. The head peacekeeper said, “Look at these.” He took a dull brown object from one of the men. “These, and he waved one for emphasis, “should not be in my bar. Completely unsat. I want to know who was in charge of searches, because I'm going to have his guts for garters.” He gestured at the others, who began frisking the stricken men. Looking at Fjoaan Tsuhn, he said, “As far as I'm concerned, this was accidental death in self-defense. You don't carry Qu'alquarian blasters to the breakfast table if you have peaceful intentions.”
The peacekeepers melted off into the crowd.
John Hart and his companion looked at Fjoaan Tsuhn. “Finish the job.”
“Excuse me, sir?”
“You heard the man. Accidental death in self-defense. They're not dead yet. Finish the job.”
Fjoaan Tsuhn looked around for a weapon. Although the bar was crowded, the other patrons had all turned their backs and were carefully not paying attention to them. The knives at the tables weren't sharp enough to do the job and there were no glass bottles to break.
He used his bare foreflippers to snap their necks. Less messy that way.
The peacekeepers returned as soon as the men were dead, carrying them off and directing the cleaning staff to mop up the venom and mess on the floor. John Hart and his companion went back to their meal. Fjoaan Tsuhn returned at the table, holding his crumpled gambling tickets in his left foreflipper.
It wasn't as bad as killing the stonework creatures. It was like Oolyllyr. He'd been provoked.
He went to make bets for the next race.
*****
Later that evening, he did get a chance to explore the casino, but not the way he'd expected. John Hart had a formal dinner with the proprietress, who also happened to be his trading partner for the psychic blockers.
To get to her office, John Hart and Fjoaan Tsuhn were escorted through the main casino floor, up a flight of stairs, and to an observation gallery.
“Stand here.” Their escort left them by a window overlooking table games in an otherwise featureless room, some of which were familiar to Fjoaan Tsuhn and some were not.
John Hart leaned forward, hand pressed against the window. “Hah!” he exclaimed. “They're playing Biko. I didn't know they still played Biko.” He moved around to another side of the window and peered intently at a table directly below the gallery.
Curious, Fjoaan Tsuhn looked where John Hart's attention was focused. Two Earth-humans sat on either side of a table with a board between them. The board was ten squares by ten squares and had an alternating black-and-white pattern. Glittering red and blue pieces covered the board. One of the players rolled a die, clapped its hands together, and took four red pieces off the board.
“It's a cross between a game of chance and a game of skill. Used to be ridiculously popular about a thousand years ago.” He had a toothy animal smile on his face that Fjoaan Tsuhn had long since learned to distrust, a smile that probably meant somebody was going to play John Hart at Biko tonight and lose a lot of money.
Their escort came back through the door carrying a pass for each of them. He gestured for them to follow, saying, “This way. Lady Manon will see you now.”
They were led down another long hallway, this one unlit except for faceted glass skylights. The casino was located in a high-latitude region of a planet with strong primary star activity, causing the entire passage to be illuminated by glorious streaking ribbons of colour. Fjoaan Tsuhn was absolutely fascinated. He'd heard that his own planet had similar displays at the polar regions, but as his people couldn't survive beyond the cold wall, neither he nor anybody he knew had ever seen any.
The guard caught him staring. “It's like that every night here.” He grinned broadly. “I never, ever get used to it, and I never want to be so jaded that I don't look up and think, wow.”
Fjoaan Tsuhn nodded his agreement.
At the end of the hallway was a door carved out of some kind of white stone with inlaid flowers and geometric patterns in blue and green and red stone and a carved border of silver-gilt black stone. The guard pushed the door open.
“Come in.” An Earth-human female voice echoed from within.
John wasted no time in swaggering through the door while Fjoaan Tsuhn followed three steps behind him. They walked up to a heavy wooden desk where a pale-skinned, black-haired Earth-human female sat.
“I understand you have something for me.” She did not look up from the ledger on her desk.
John Hart sashayed up to a chair and sprawled in it. “Hello, my name is John Hart. It's a pleasure to meet you.”
She finally looked up, face twisted up in irritation. And relaxed. “John? Is that what you're calling yourself these days? You know, changing your name doesn't make you any less of a bastard..”
“You wound me, madam. As always, I am ever at your service” He made a neat little bow to her from the chair.
“Cut the crap. The only one you serve is yourself.” She pointed at Fjoaan Tsuhn. “Who is that?”
“Waterworlder.”
“Well, yes, I can see that. He's orange and has gills. Try harder.”
“His name is Fjoaan Tsuhn, and he's my bodyguard. Damn good one, at that.”
The woman grew serious and her eyes glinted. “And would he be the reason there were three dead men in my casino this morning?”
Without asking, John Hart took a crystal glass from the decanter set on the desk and poured himself some of the amber liquid within. “Not in the slightest. There were three dead men in the casino this morning because they threatened one of your patrons with Qu'alquarian blasters over breakfast.” He took a sip of the liquid. “Unusual for you to have bottom feeders like that in your casino, Manon.”
She snorted and raised a winglike eyebrow. “Bottom feeders? That's a laugh. You're the one using my place of business for weapons trafficking. Speaking of which, where are you supposed to meet your pickup?”
“I was hoping you'd tell me that. I was told to bring them to you.” Something moved out from behind the desk. “Oh, brilliant! You still have your pets. Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!”
The thing called a “kitty kitty kitty” was large, four-legged, and tawny golden with darker gold spots and some sort of silvery metallic object protruding from its ear that Fjoaan Tsuhn instinctively recognized as a predator. John Hart pretended to sulk as it walked by with its golden head up in the air and the most disdainful expression Fjoaan Tsuhn had ever seen on its face. “Fine, be that way. I suppose it's my fault for not bringing you an antelope haunch, isn't it?”
The creature soon reached the guard and butted his thigh with its head. Lady Manon gave an indulgent smile to the beast before shaking her head. “Vergil, would you kindly take Simoom somewhere else?” The guard bowed, walked over to a bookshelf, pressed some buttons and disappeared into a previously hidden passage.
John Hart said, “Simoom?”
The Lady Manon shrugged. “It's a name from an ancient story from Old Earth. Some fool got lost in the desert and turned into a leopard under the tutelage of a leopard named Simoom.”
“He must have been touched in the head, because they didn't have that kind of technology until the 38th century. Where are the other two?”
Lady Manon pressed some buttons on her desk. “Vergil, our guest wants to see Raksha and Narasimha. Will you and Kaedoh bring them out?”
She gave John Hart a sour look. “Satisfied? Look, I want whatever you have out of here. The Safri rebels have been staking this place out for weeks waiting on you to arrive. Those fools with the blasters that your fish killed this morning aren't the only ones.”
John Hart shrugged. “I was informed by my clients that I arrived here and transferred the goods, and I have the documents to prove it.” He idly flicked a finger at Fjoaan Tsuhn, who handed four sheets of vellum to the lady. In an amused voice, he continued, “They told me I'd cause a paradox if I didn't meet you, here, now. Fate! Predestination! And we can't be having paradoxes in your casino. That would be bad for business.” He drained the glass in his hand, oblivious to the dark, angry expression that flitted across her face. “It's a lucky thing I knew you beforehand, isn't it? If I'm to be bound by common fate, at least I'm bound in such good company.”
“You are such a bastard.”
Just then, the door on the wall opened. Vergil and the one Lady Manon had called Kaedoh, a being from a species Fjoaan Tsuhn had never seen, came out with two more strange creatures. Vergil walked behind a beast that was shaped vaguely like a half-sized version of Laaessy, only with a rough coat of grey fur tipped in black and yellow eyes. Kaedoh walked behind something that was shaped like a much larger version of Simoom, only with an all-over tawny coat and a thick mess of darker fur circling its neck styled into long curls. Both creatures had those silver objects protruding from their left ears. The tawny one had a grizzled jowl, clouded eyes, and a slow, halting walk, and wore a bright green blanket trimmed in white. Fjoaan Tsuhn remembered seeing Earth animals in a picture book on the Light-bearer and realized it was both extremely old and likely blind.
“Well, John, here you are. Raksha,” she said, pointing to the grey-and-black one, “and Narasimha.”
John Hart stood up, beamed, and walked over to Raksha. Kneeling down before her, he purred, “Well aren't you a beautiful bitch?” Raksha responded by curling back her lips, growling, and raising all the fur on her neck. “Don't be like that, sweetheart. Nice girls don't say such nasty things. I'd hate to think you're not a nice girl.” The creature kept growling and backed as far away from him as she could, causing him to laugh and rise to his feet.
Lady Manon's sharp voice pierced the air. “I'd be careful if I were you. She's been known to bite monkeys who weren't playing on her team.”
“Don't tell me stories about her team. You're spoiling my image of her.” He caught her hand in his, leaned over it, and gently kissed the knuckles. “Now if you were to bite monkeys playing on your team, that would be something entirely different.”
Lady Manon snorted. “Sit down and quit acting like an ass. We both know better.” John Hart obediently sat down at her command, as did both Raksha and the tawny Narasimha. Fjoaan Tsuhn stifled his amusement at that. Judging by the way both Vergil and Kaedoh were staring studiously at the floor, they'd noticed too.
“The delegation will arrive tomorrow morning on the kitchen loading dock. You turn over the whatever they ares, they pay you-well now.” She paused as she stared at the page. “Remind me if I ever get tired of running a gambling hall that weapons trafficking is as profitable as it is illegal.”
John Hart flashed her a brilliant smile. “According to those papers, you make out better than I do in this deal. Maybe I should start my own casino.”
She stared at him, long and hard, before bursting out laughing. “You really are a bastard, John, but things are more fun when you're around.”
“Since I'm good fun, then, will you buy me a drink?”
“Not on your life, and especially not after you just drank two glasses of my best rye. You can buy me a drink. No...” She stilled him as he reached for his hip flask. “Not whatever homemade sheep's piss you have in that bottle. A proper drink. In a glass and everything.” She smiled sweet and poison. “And then you can get the hell out of my office. I've got work to do.”
*****
Several hours and many drinks later, John Hart and Lady Manon repaired to his suite at the hotel. She hadn't gotten any more work done that night, nor had John Hart gone to play Biko as he'd intended. While the mating behaviours were starting in the sleeping room, both guards sat on a couch in the antechamber. Kaedoh's race was called-well, Fjoaan Tsuhn hadn't quite been able to understand his harsh, guttural accent but it sounded something like “Cleego”. The being was very tall, very dark, and had a prominent ridge running down the center of its skull.
“I take it he's been here before?” Fjoaan Tsuhn attempted idle conversation to break up the monotonous vigil.
Kaedoh did not look at him. “I do not know. Not in the last two years.”
A loud, deep moan issued from the sleeping room. Both guards looked up at the door.
“On my homeworld there were always stories in the spaceport bar about Earth-humans, but I never believed them until I started working for John Hart.”
Kaedoh finally spared him a glance. “What kind of stories?”
Fjoaan Tsuhn shrugged. “That they'll mate anything and everything that moves.”
Kaedoh laughed. “They're not much fun.”
“What do you mean?”
“Too easy to break.”
Fjoaan Tsuhn cocked his head. “You've tried?”
“Humans are too soft. Sex for fun isn't fun unless I have a female trying to kill me by throwing boulders at me or tearing my hide open with her claws.”
More noise penetrated the door, this time some manic giggles, a throaty feminine laugh, and an odd wet squelch. Fjoaan Tsuhn and Kaedoh ignored it.
“In my species, the female chooses the male by fighting him. The male that puts up the best fight wins.” He tilted his head down, making the ridge on his head stand out.
“I see.”
“Now, of my kind...the best females are the ones trained as warriors. Especially the ones with spiked chains. They'll lay your flesh open right down to the bone. Very...erotic.” His eyes glazed for a moment before he blinked and stared at Fjoaan Tsuhn. “Your species doesn't mate for pleasure. Why are you asking me this?”
“I didn't. You volunteered the information.”
They sat in silence for a long while; occasionally more noise would filter out of the bedroom, but otherwise it was still. Something bothersome crept into Fjoaan Tsuhn's awareness, niggling just beyond his mind's reach. He stood up, thrust out his spines, and began prowling around the room.
“What's your problem, fish?”
“None of your business, lumphead.” He kept stalking around the room.
And stopped. He'd realized what was bothering him. “What's that smell?”
“What smell?”
“Like the small red stone-fruits down in the bar.” He thrust his wrist-spines out. “Only rotten.”
“You shouldn't guard when you're high. Hallucinations are bad for business.”
Fjoaan Tsuhn ignored him, pressing his face to the door and concentrating on what his hearing orifices and olfactory sensors could sense. There was low talking coming from inside, followed by a strange rattle.
Something was definitely wrong. Fjoaan Tsuhn pulled his stun blaster from a holster hidden inside his jacket and went to check the door to the hallway.
Kaedoh isn't moving. He moved to the bedroom door again. Oh, shefteh, Kaedoh isn't moving!
He burst through the bedroom door to find Lady Manon sitting by herself on the bed. Fjoaan Tshun caught only the slightest glimpse of a bound, gagged John Hart wrapped up in the tentacles of a scarlet-red creature before they teleported away in a flash. As he ran forward to the Lady Manon, he felt something crush down on his gill-covers, and then everything went black.
*****
Previous Next
Characters: John Hart, Blowfish, Woman from KKBB, numerous OCs
Rating: HARD NC-17 (see warnings)
Summary: A retelling of the Faust myth using TW characters.
Disclaimer: All canon characters are property of the BBC, all OCs are my own, and Faust is the property of Mephistopheles.
WARNING: The Faust myth is a story about dealing with the devil. As such, this is an extremely dark and mature work of fiction. Specific warnings for this chapter include assault, hitmen, murder, and weapons trafficking.
As always, kind thanks to
used_songs and
invisible_lift for the beta reading.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
If the ride to that...that torture pit had seemed long, the ride back seemed longer. Fjoaan Tsuhn wanted to leap free of the transport and get away from her, get away from John Hart.
He was glad that Laaessy was safely in their own private section of the transport where he didn't have to look at her. He shook where he stood, violent tremors of rage and revulsion racking his body as he cursed John Hart and Laaessy under his breath in his own tongue. “Sick evil sulphur-breathing tubeworms, not even fit to shuffle shards of glass to the lava...”
Right about the time he had called Laaessy a Sjoeltjie, waving his spines in frustration, he saw a flash of black out of the corner of his eye. Something hard and painful pressed down on his back, right over a poison gland. Venom dripped down his longest spine.
Oolyllyr laughed as he licked the spine clean of poison. “You're so easy, fish face.”
Dangerous rage burst free into violence. Fjoaan Tsuhn spun around and drove a wrist spine deep into Oolyllyr's shoulder, causing orange-red blood blossomed from the hole in his flesh. “I told you not to call me that.”
Maddeningly, Oolyllyr only laughed again, and threw Fjoaan Tsuhn down to the floor. “I told you not to fuck with me.”
Oolyllyr spun him onto his dorsal side and pressed him face-down into the floor panels. While Fjoaan Tsuhn struggled against him, Oolyllyr pressed down against the base of another spine. The bastard is milking me, Fjoaan Tsuhn realized, and redoubled his efforts to get free.
Oolyllyr was too big and too heavy. Curling up in the defensive posture would be admitting defeat, and there was no way he was going to let that hairy black monster win.
Venom trickled down the spine. He could feel Oolyllyr's hot damp breath near the tip.
You might be bigger, but you aren't very smart. Fjoaan Tsuhn pulled the spine halfway in and pushed out a tiny bit more venom. Come on, you know you want to. Come on. GOOD boy.
When he felt Oolyllyr's tongue slide over the tip of the spine, he thrust it out as hard as he could, impaling Oolyllyr's tongue on the roof of his mouth. The Caynnyd screamed loud and shrilly. Fjoaan Tsuhn thrust more spines out as hard as he could, feeling one catch in soft tissue of some kind, and then bellowed with pain as Oolyllyr broke off the top of one spine with his teeth.
“Tubeworm!” Moving as quickly as he could, he retracted his spines, spun around, and grabbed the broken tip out of Oolyllyr's mouth. “And you're the one with the brains in the family?”
Oolyllyr's eyes were narrowed into slits and all his fur was standing straight on end, making him look roughly double his normal size. He spat blood at Fjoaan Tsuhn, aiming for his eyes and just missing. Hot reddish liquid dripped over his gill covers, making him gag and choke.
Oolyllyr took the advantage, lunging at him, growling, and cursing. “Too slow, chew toy.”
Fjoaan Tsuhn ducked and slashed at Oolyllyr's leg with the broken spine, only to miss and get raked across the chest by one set of foreclaws. He doubled over, shooting out his spines to protect his back, and shot as much venom as he could into the hairy black face. “Didn't anybody ever teach you it's not nice to spit?”
Oolyllyr hissed in surprise and began shaking his head. He flailed out blindly, striking Fjoaan Tsuhn across the face with his claws as he fell forward.
The formless, incandescent rage that had so consumed him earlier suddenly found its focus. He wanted Oolyllyr down on his hands and knees begging for mercy. To see him whining and whimpering for his life, just so that there would always be one Caynnyd who would always bow down before him. Even if he would up being Laaessy's intelligent footstool or fuckbench, there would still be one of these furry black bastards who had fallen onto his knees.
Fjoaan Tsuhn held the broken spine like a dagger and lunged at Oolyllyr.
Spine met chest fur. It pierced the skin, not deeply, but deeply enough to wound. Fjoaan Tsuhn dragged his makeshift knife down Oolyllyr's front, just like John Hart had done to him that night in the bed. More fury bubbled out at that memory, and he dragged the knife down harder, then slashed it upwards to meet the shoulder wound from wrist-spine.
Oolyllyr was still trying to blink the venom from his eyes while fighting its effect. The stink of mating pheromone was beginning to pour unbidden off him, and between that and the blood and the acid scent of venom he was a nasty one-creature version of the losing side of the evening's entertainment. Fjoaan Tsuhn found himself suddenly very weary of fighting and simply kicked Oolyllyr to his knees. He grabbed Oolyllyr's lower jaw, wrenched it up, and held the broken spine against the clean-shaven throat.
A tiny spark of fear flickered in Oolyllyr's eyes.
That was all Fjoaan Tsuhn needed to see. He had won.
“Next time, ask nicely.” Fjoaan Tsuhn shoved him roughly backwards and went to stand in his appointed spot. After a moment, Oolyllyr rose to his feet, winced at the pain in his front and shoulder, and staggered to his post.
The taste in his mouth was a bitter chemical mixture of his own ichor and Oolyllyr's blood and exhaustion and power.
*****
John Hart didn't say anything about the pools of dried blood or the bleeding bodyguards when they arrived at the Light-bearer two hours later. Dodging the worst of the wreckage, he took the broken spine from Fjoaan Tsuhn's foreflipper and began to play with it.
And then Laaessy complained about the mess.
Fjoaan Tsuhn found himself swinging from the rack on the ceiling that John Hart normally dangled from, limbs stretched out like a star, with Oolyllyr's back pressed to his own and Laaessy scourging both of them. John Hart sipped his spiked wine and proclaimed it an excellent show. From the smell of both of them, they'd be fucking each other and Oolyllyr in a little bit, and Fjoaan Tsuhn would be sentient furniture again.
The Light-bearer was leaving tomorrow at nightfall, and with luck, Fjoaan Tsuhn would never set foot on this planet again. As soon as this delivery was over with, he was going to buy his way out of his contract and get as far away from John Hart as he possibly could. He closed his eyes and thought of his future as a jeweler on the cold wall.
A smile spread across his face while the lashes tore into his flesh.
*****
John Hart was sitting at a table in the casino bar, drinking some hot beverage or other. It smelled lovely. John Hart said that back on Old Earth, where Earth-humans were from, the drink was made from the fruit of a tropical tree and that it had been sacred to a tribe of people who held live sacrifices of their own kind. Another Earth-human religious thing...they seemed to have as many religions as they had colour variations, and they had a lot of colour morphs. It also happened to be a favourite drink of Earth-human women.
Fjoaan Tsuhn couldn't understand why Earth-human women might like something that could get them sacrificed alive, but then again, he was pondering quite possibly the most bizarre species in the galaxy.
They'd made the time/space jump from Laaessy's holdings to the appointed delivery spot, a rowdy casino on a mostly boreal planet. John Hart and another Earth-human he'd met by chance in the bar were talking and laughing over their drinks. The other Earth-human, who appeared to be several years older than John Hart, had a matching wrist strap and had its grizzled head-fur cut in a similar manner. He also had a matching pong of time travel about him. Whoever he was, he and John Hart clearly knew one another, and from the sounds of their words they were gossiping.
Fjoaan Tsuhn was sitting at a table off to the side as usual, able to see and hear but not catch the entire conversation. He had a plate of food in front of him, a glass of plain water, and something John had called a racing form. John had told him to read the form, walk to the window every fifteen minutes, and place a bet on the ones John had circled well in advance. Fjoaan Tsuhn didn't know what “the races” were, but he suspected that John knew the outcomes in advance. He didn't especially care, and liked that he got to keep any of the winnings for himself.
He hoped he'd have some time off to explore the casino later that evening. He'd never been to one before, and what he saw all looked like great fun.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted three Earth-human males acting strangely. After three hurricane seasons in prison, seven hurricane seasons as a guard at the waste treatment plant, and now seven galactic months with John Hart, Fjoaan Tsuhn recognized trouble in its native habitat. Sure enough, they were headed for the table where John Hart sat.
John Hart noticed them as well. He was unarmed, as one of the conditions of entrance to the casino was checking one's weaponry at the door. Fjoaan Tsuhn watched John Hart and his companion, careful to not make eye contact or give himself away.
One of the men came up behind John Hart, companionable and happy, and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “John! Long time, no see. Come with me, let's go get a drink at the bar. My treat.”
“I'm having a drink with my friend here. Was having a perfectly nice time of it, too, till you showed up. Piss off.”
“Do you really mean that? I think you should come have a drink with us.”
By now, John Hart's companion was slinking back toward the wall, holding his beverage glass as if he planned to smash it. Almost time to intervene.
John Hart tipped up his chin and answered, “Either you're daft or you're blind. Can't you see I'm busy here? Now go away.” He took another sip of his drink.
The other two men pulled blasters from their coats and aimed them at John Hart's face. The peacekeepers at the bar noticed the disturbance, yelled at the men, and began running for them.
Too late. As soon as he saw the weapons, Fjoaan Tsuhn thrust out his spines through a strategically-placed busk in his garment, letting fly a venomous volley that hit each man in the eyes. They fell backwards, screaming and clutching their faces.
With a clatter of shaken porcelain on jostled tables, three peacekeepers arrived. One of them looked at Fjoaan Tsuhn, John Hart, and the stranger. He leaned down to the nearest man's face, smelled the liquid, and asked, “That was your natural defense against predators, wasn't it, fish face?”
Fjoaan Tsuhn nodded.
“Any reason you shot it at predators who weren't hunting you?”
John Hart answered. “He's my hired guard.”
The men had stopped screaming and were moaning with broken sobs. The head peacekeeper said, “Look at these.” He took a dull brown object from one of the men. “These, and he waved one for emphasis, “should not be in my bar. Completely unsat. I want to know who was in charge of searches, because I'm going to have his guts for garters.” He gestured at the others, who began frisking the stricken men. Looking at Fjoaan Tsuhn, he said, “As far as I'm concerned, this was accidental death in self-defense. You don't carry Qu'alquarian blasters to the breakfast table if you have peaceful intentions.”
The peacekeepers melted off into the crowd.
John Hart and his companion looked at Fjoaan Tsuhn. “Finish the job.”
“Excuse me, sir?”
“You heard the man. Accidental death in self-defense. They're not dead yet. Finish the job.”
Fjoaan Tsuhn looked around for a weapon. Although the bar was crowded, the other patrons had all turned their backs and were carefully not paying attention to them. The knives at the tables weren't sharp enough to do the job and there were no glass bottles to break.
He used his bare foreflippers to snap their necks. Less messy that way.
The peacekeepers returned as soon as the men were dead, carrying them off and directing the cleaning staff to mop up the venom and mess on the floor. John Hart and his companion went back to their meal. Fjoaan Tsuhn returned at the table, holding his crumpled gambling tickets in his left foreflipper.
It wasn't as bad as killing the stonework creatures. It was like Oolyllyr. He'd been provoked.
He went to make bets for the next race.
*****
Later that evening, he did get a chance to explore the casino, but not the way he'd expected. John Hart had a formal dinner with the proprietress, who also happened to be his trading partner for the psychic blockers.
To get to her office, John Hart and Fjoaan Tsuhn were escorted through the main casino floor, up a flight of stairs, and to an observation gallery.
“Stand here.” Their escort left them by a window overlooking table games in an otherwise featureless room, some of which were familiar to Fjoaan Tsuhn and some were not.
John Hart leaned forward, hand pressed against the window. “Hah!” he exclaimed. “They're playing Biko. I didn't know they still played Biko.” He moved around to another side of the window and peered intently at a table directly below the gallery.
Curious, Fjoaan Tsuhn looked where John Hart's attention was focused. Two Earth-humans sat on either side of a table with a board between them. The board was ten squares by ten squares and had an alternating black-and-white pattern. Glittering red and blue pieces covered the board. One of the players rolled a die, clapped its hands together, and took four red pieces off the board.
“It's a cross between a game of chance and a game of skill. Used to be ridiculously popular about a thousand years ago.” He had a toothy animal smile on his face that Fjoaan Tsuhn had long since learned to distrust, a smile that probably meant somebody was going to play John Hart at Biko tonight and lose a lot of money.
Their escort came back through the door carrying a pass for each of them. He gestured for them to follow, saying, “This way. Lady Manon will see you now.”
They were led down another long hallway, this one unlit except for faceted glass skylights. The casino was located in a high-latitude region of a planet with strong primary star activity, causing the entire passage to be illuminated by glorious streaking ribbons of colour. Fjoaan Tsuhn was absolutely fascinated. He'd heard that his own planet had similar displays at the polar regions, but as his people couldn't survive beyond the cold wall, neither he nor anybody he knew had ever seen any.
The guard caught him staring. “It's like that every night here.” He grinned broadly. “I never, ever get used to it, and I never want to be so jaded that I don't look up and think, wow.”
Fjoaan Tsuhn nodded his agreement.
At the end of the hallway was a door carved out of some kind of white stone with inlaid flowers and geometric patterns in blue and green and red stone and a carved border of silver-gilt black stone. The guard pushed the door open.
“Come in.” An Earth-human female voice echoed from within.
John wasted no time in swaggering through the door while Fjoaan Tsuhn followed three steps behind him. They walked up to a heavy wooden desk where a pale-skinned, black-haired Earth-human female sat.
“I understand you have something for me.” She did not look up from the ledger on her desk.
John Hart sashayed up to a chair and sprawled in it. “Hello, my name is John Hart. It's a pleasure to meet you.”
She finally looked up, face twisted up in irritation. And relaxed. “John? Is that what you're calling yourself these days? You know, changing your name doesn't make you any less of a bastard..”
“You wound me, madam. As always, I am ever at your service” He made a neat little bow to her from the chair.
“Cut the crap. The only one you serve is yourself.” She pointed at Fjoaan Tsuhn. “Who is that?”
“Waterworlder.”
“Well, yes, I can see that. He's orange and has gills. Try harder.”
“His name is Fjoaan Tsuhn, and he's my bodyguard. Damn good one, at that.”
The woman grew serious and her eyes glinted. “And would he be the reason there were three dead men in my casino this morning?”
Without asking, John Hart took a crystal glass from the decanter set on the desk and poured himself some of the amber liquid within. “Not in the slightest. There were three dead men in the casino this morning because they threatened one of your patrons with Qu'alquarian blasters over breakfast.” He took a sip of the liquid. “Unusual for you to have bottom feeders like that in your casino, Manon.”
She snorted and raised a winglike eyebrow. “Bottom feeders? That's a laugh. You're the one using my place of business for weapons trafficking. Speaking of which, where are you supposed to meet your pickup?”
“I was hoping you'd tell me that. I was told to bring them to you.” Something moved out from behind the desk. “Oh, brilliant! You still have your pets. Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!”
The thing called a “kitty kitty kitty” was large, four-legged, and tawny golden with darker gold spots and some sort of silvery metallic object protruding from its ear that Fjoaan Tsuhn instinctively recognized as a predator. John Hart pretended to sulk as it walked by with its golden head up in the air and the most disdainful expression Fjoaan Tsuhn had ever seen on its face. “Fine, be that way. I suppose it's my fault for not bringing you an antelope haunch, isn't it?”
The creature soon reached the guard and butted his thigh with its head. Lady Manon gave an indulgent smile to the beast before shaking her head. “Vergil, would you kindly take Simoom somewhere else?” The guard bowed, walked over to a bookshelf, pressed some buttons and disappeared into a previously hidden passage.
John Hart said, “Simoom?”
The Lady Manon shrugged. “It's a name from an ancient story from Old Earth. Some fool got lost in the desert and turned into a leopard under the tutelage of a leopard named Simoom.”
“He must have been touched in the head, because they didn't have that kind of technology until the 38th century. Where are the other two?”
Lady Manon pressed some buttons on her desk. “Vergil, our guest wants to see Raksha and Narasimha. Will you and Kaedoh bring them out?”
She gave John Hart a sour look. “Satisfied? Look, I want whatever you have out of here. The Safri rebels have been staking this place out for weeks waiting on you to arrive. Those fools with the blasters that your fish killed this morning aren't the only ones.”
John Hart shrugged. “I was informed by my clients that I arrived here and transferred the goods, and I have the documents to prove it.” He idly flicked a finger at Fjoaan Tsuhn, who handed four sheets of vellum to the lady. In an amused voice, he continued, “They told me I'd cause a paradox if I didn't meet you, here, now. Fate! Predestination! And we can't be having paradoxes in your casino. That would be bad for business.” He drained the glass in his hand, oblivious to the dark, angry expression that flitted across her face. “It's a lucky thing I knew you beforehand, isn't it? If I'm to be bound by common fate, at least I'm bound in such good company.”
“You are such a bastard.”
Just then, the door on the wall opened. Vergil and the one Lady Manon had called Kaedoh, a being from a species Fjoaan Tsuhn had never seen, came out with two more strange creatures. Vergil walked behind a beast that was shaped vaguely like a half-sized version of Laaessy, only with a rough coat of grey fur tipped in black and yellow eyes. Kaedoh walked behind something that was shaped like a much larger version of Simoom, only with an all-over tawny coat and a thick mess of darker fur circling its neck styled into long curls. Both creatures had those silver objects protruding from their left ears. The tawny one had a grizzled jowl, clouded eyes, and a slow, halting walk, and wore a bright green blanket trimmed in white. Fjoaan Tsuhn remembered seeing Earth animals in a picture book on the Light-bearer and realized it was both extremely old and likely blind.
“Well, John, here you are. Raksha,” she said, pointing to the grey-and-black one, “and Narasimha.”
John Hart stood up, beamed, and walked over to Raksha. Kneeling down before her, he purred, “Well aren't you a beautiful bitch?” Raksha responded by curling back her lips, growling, and raising all the fur on her neck. “Don't be like that, sweetheart. Nice girls don't say such nasty things. I'd hate to think you're not a nice girl.” The creature kept growling and backed as far away from him as she could, causing him to laugh and rise to his feet.
Lady Manon's sharp voice pierced the air. “I'd be careful if I were you. She's been known to bite monkeys who weren't playing on her team.”
“Don't tell me stories about her team. You're spoiling my image of her.” He caught her hand in his, leaned over it, and gently kissed the knuckles. “Now if you were to bite monkeys playing on your team, that would be something entirely different.”
Lady Manon snorted. “Sit down and quit acting like an ass. We both know better.” John Hart obediently sat down at her command, as did both Raksha and the tawny Narasimha. Fjoaan Tsuhn stifled his amusement at that. Judging by the way both Vergil and Kaedoh were staring studiously at the floor, they'd noticed too.
“The delegation will arrive tomorrow morning on the kitchen loading dock. You turn over the whatever they ares, they pay you-well now.” She paused as she stared at the page. “Remind me if I ever get tired of running a gambling hall that weapons trafficking is as profitable as it is illegal.”
John Hart flashed her a brilliant smile. “According to those papers, you make out better than I do in this deal. Maybe I should start my own casino.”
She stared at him, long and hard, before bursting out laughing. “You really are a bastard, John, but things are more fun when you're around.”
“Since I'm good fun, then, will you buy me a drink?”
“Not on your life, and especially not after you just drank two glasses of my best rye. You can buy me a drink. No...” She stilled him as he reached for his hip flask. “Not whatever homemade sheep's piss you have in that bottle. A proper drink. In a glass and everything.” She smiled sweet and poison. “And then you can get the hell out of my office. I've got work to do.”
*****
Several hours and many drinks later, John Hart and Lady Manon repaired to his suite at the hotel. She hadn't gotten any more work done that night, nor had John Hart gone to play Biko as he'd intended. While the mating behaviours were starting in the sleeping room, both guards sat on a couch in the antechamber. Kaedoh's race was called-well, Fjoaan Tsuhn hadn't quite been able to understand his harsh, guttural accent but it sounded something like “Cleego”. The being was very tall, very dark, and had a prominent ridge running down the center of its skull.
“I take it he's been here before?” Fjoaan Tsuhn attempted idle conversation to break up the monotonous vigil.
Kaedoh did not look at him. “I do not know. Not in the last two years.”
A loud, deep moan issued from the sleeping room. Both guards looked up at the door.
“On my homeworld there were always stories in the spaceport bar about Earth-humans, but I never believed them until I started working for John Hart.”
Kaedoh finally spared him a glance. “What kind of stories?”
Fjoaan Tsuhn shrugged. “That they'll mate anything and everything that moves.”
Kaedoh laughed. “They're not much fun.”
“What do you mean?”
“Too easy to break.”
Fjoaan Tsuhn cocked his head. “You've tried?”
“Humans are too soft. Sex for fun isn't fun unless I have a female trying to kill me by throwing boulders at me or tearing my hide open with her claws.”
More noise penetrated the door, this time some manic giggles, a throaty feminine laugh, and an odd wet squelch. Fjoaan Tsuhn and Kaedoh ignored it.
“In my species, the female chooses the male by fighting him. The male that puts up the best fight wins.” He tilted his head down, making the ridge on his head stand out.
“I see.”
“Now, of my kind...the best females are the ones trained as warriors. Especially the ones with spiked chains. They'll lay your flesh open right down to the bone. Very...erotic.” His eyes glazed for a moment before he blinked and stared at Fjoaan Tsuhn. “Your species doesn't mate for pleasure. Why are you asking me this?”
“I didn't. You volunteered the information.”
They sat in silence for a long while; occasionally more noise would filter out of the bedroom, but otherwise it was still. Something bothersome crept into Fjoaan Tsuhn's awareness, niggling just beyond his mind's reach. He stood up, thrust out his spines, and began prowling around the room.
“What's your problem, fish?”
“None of your business, lumphead.” He kept stalking around the room.
And stopped. He'd realized what was bothering him. “What's that smell?”
“What smell?”
“Like the small red stone-fruits down in the bar.” He thrust his wrist-spines out. “Only rotten.”
“You shouldn't guard when you're high. Hallucinations are bad for business.”
Fjoaan Tsuhn ignored him, pressing his face to the door and concentrating on what his hearing orifices and olfactory sensors could sense. There was low talking coming from inside, followed by a strange rattle.
Something was definitely wrong. Fjoaan Tsuhn pulled his stun blaster from a holster hidden inside his jacket and went to check the door to the hallway.
Kaedoh isn't moving. He moved to the bedroom door again. Oh, shefteh, Kaedoh isn't moving!
He burst through the bedroom door to find Lady Manon sitting by herself on the bed. Fjoaan Tshun caught only the slightest glimpse of a bound, gagged John Hart wrapped up in the tentacles of a scarlet-red creature before they teleported away in a flash. As he ran forward to the Lady Manon, he felt something crush down on his gill-covers, and then everything went black.
*****
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