Jade Darcy and the Affair of Honor - ebook

CHAPTER 1: NIGHTMARE

He came at her, naked and erect. His body was small but solidly built, and his face was strangely hidden in shadow that obscured nothing else about him. The smell of his sweat mingled unpleasantly with the tang of her own fear. He moved with the dazzling quickness only another carc could achieve, yet his approach was strangely slowed, as though viewed from a projector run at half speed. Horrified though she was, she could not take her eyes from his body—and particularly from his large, thick penis with the blue veins in bas relief on the side.

Her first impulse was to run, her second to fight, but she could do neither. She couldn’t move. She knew intellectually she was just as fast and almost as strong as he was, but her body would not obey her. Her hands were held at her side by some invisible force, her feet were pinned in place. She stood helpless, struggling against her unseen bonds and gasping from the desperation of her efforts as he drew nearer.

Though his face was still in shadow, she could see his eyes quite clearly—darkly gleaming with both desire and triumph. His eyes took in the contours of her body, and she realized for the first time that she was naked, too, totally helpless before his lecherous advance.

At first all was darkness around her, the silent darkness of the grave. She screamed at him to stop, to leave her alone, but no sounds came from her throat—and despite the shadow over his face she could tell he was beaming a salacious grin. His thumbs were rubbing the tips of his fingers as his large, callused hands prepared to reach out and touch her helpless body.

Then the scene shifted and she was in the ingesterie, with its dim lighting and crowds of strange beings from dozens of worlds. The noise level rocked from stillness to the deafening drone of alien speech, hundreds of simultaneous conversations, but still her screams could not be heard. Most of the beings around her were strangers, but even so she saw many familiar faces.

There was Rix in his accustomed box behind the glass wall, his multiple arms controlling the environment for his varied patrons. There was little Bab-ankh and slimy Lorpet, and so many others who were just a flicker of recognition in the back of her mind. Colonel Stavros, who’d never been within a hundred parsecs of this place, sat placidly at a nearby table, fingering his mustache and looking pointedly away.

She tried to call out, but her voice couldn’t be heard above the din; she tried to reach out, but her arm would not move from its place. She could only stand there, naked and helpless, as the man with the shadowed face came toward her with lust in his eyes.

Then the man laughed, and all noise ceased. The ingesterie’s patrons stopped what they were doing and riveted their attention on her. But not even the other arbiters made a move to fight off her attacker. Most of the patrons sat or stood where they were, and some even came around behind the man, ready to help him. She looked down at her own body and saw that strange arms and tentacles were now holding her in place. There was no safety, not even here. They had all betrayed her. They had all turned against her. Her anger rose against them, almost—but not quite—covering the fear she felt at the man’s approach.

Her breathing was ragged and her heart was banging so heavily she thought it would surely burst through her chest. Her stomach was grinding away at itself until she wanted to throw up, and yet she couldn’t. Somehow that would be a victory for him, another bit of herself he controlled. She couldn’t allow that.

The patrons were cheering silently as the man came toward her, his penis long and stiff, looking oddly deformed and menacing. Though she whimpered and twisted, she could not escape the inevitable moment.

Then the ingesterie vanished and she was in the woods again. She lay naked on her back with her feet spread widely apart as he continued toward her. The ants bit at her back and buttocks, and she writhed on the damp ground but couldn’t escape. The man’s face was no longer in shadow as he knelt between her legs and reached up to grab her jaw with his strong right hand. It was a face she knew well, a face she’d cared for—once. Now it was twisted into a leering mask of sadistic lust, the lips swollen and red with passion, saliva drooling from the right corner.

His right hand gripped her throat tightly while that elbow leaned heavily on her left shoulder, pinning her to the ground. His left hand grabbed her right breast and squeezed it so hard she cried out even through his choking grip. Everywhere his hands touched her skin she felt a burn like strong alkali eating away her flesh. As his left hand roughly stroked the right side of her body it left a trail of slime as though an army of slugs had crawled over her. Her mind whispered it was only sweat, but her flesh screamed otherwise.

Now he leaned his face down toward hers, and the sour smell of his breath combined with the smell of his sweat and the stink of putrid sex. His lips forced themselves on hers, and the slimy touch made her stomach flip over. She wanted to vomit in his face, but her body was so paralyzed even that reflex was denied her. And still his hands were touching her, pawing her, burning her. His right elbow shifted and dug into her left breast even as he squeezed the right one again with his left hand.

Then his right hand pushed her head all the way back, so far she thought her neck might snap. She couldn’t see what was happening, now, but at least he’d stopped kissing her. Of all the perversions, that mockery of love seemed the most disgusting.

His penis jabbed at her, but the angle was wrong and it missed her vagina, poking hard instead against the upper edge and pressing her flesh against the pubic bone. Tears of pain came to her eyes and she tried to cry out, but he held her throat so tightly she couldn’t make a sound. Twice more he jabbed and missed, bringing so much pain that her body involuntarily arched to aid his entrance even as she hated herself for doing so.

His penis tore its way through her unlubricated labia, pulling her pubic hairs with it and seeming to yank some out from their roots. Her vagina was on fire as he plowed through the dry tissue that suddenly moistened with her own blood. The man looked down at the blood and smiled in triumph, and pumped some more as he pressed himself against her and kissed her and...and...and....

“Let me go, let me go!” Jade Darcy screamed as she opened her eyes and stared in horror at the gently lit ceiling panels overhead. Her screams reinforced her already heightened fear, producing an accelerating spiral that ended only when she ran out of breath. She struggled to sit up, but her arms and legs were restrained tightly at her sides and she couldn’t break them free.

“Please read the numbers on the screen,” said a gentle voice from the side of the room.

“Fuck you, Val! Let me go!” she shrieked.

“Swearing isn’t good enough; you can do that in your sleep. Please read the numbers on the screen.”

Jade turned her head desperately to the right and tried to make her eyes focus. The computer screen had a series of random numbers displayed on it. “Four, thirteen, twenty-eight, five,” she said hoarsely, gasping like an asthmatic for air to fill her empty lungs.

“Good morning, Jade,” the computer said as it released the restraints on her ankles and wrists.

“Motherfucking son-of-a-bitch computer,” Jade muttered as she pulled her limbs in quickly, before the computer could bind them again. Her body was quaking from the aftermath of the experience, and her stomach was a pit of fire and nausea. As soon as she could control her arm movements well enough, she reached for the plate beside her bed and grabbed some saltine crackers. She stuffed them into her mouth, nearly choking as she hurried to get them down to ease the burning in her gut.

Her body still felt slimy and dirty from the mauling by her phantom attacker. She remembered how bad the feeling was seven years ago when the nightmares first started, when she would stumble half blind from the bed, knocking over anything she hadn’t already broken in her sleep, to reach the shower and stand under the running water for hours trying to rinse off the disgusting feel of his skin on hers. At least things had minimally improved since then.

“Shower, Val,” she said when she finished her mouthful of crackers.

“Already running.”

Her body was starting to feel more like her own again. As soon as she could trust her legs to support her she swung them over the side of the bed and stood up, then staggered into her tiny bathroom. She peed and stood under the shower for fifteen minutes, letting the hot water wash away her sweat and purify her skin. She didn’t bother to lather just yet; she still had her morning exercises to do and some residual anger to relieve.

She walked naked into the second room of her two -room house, the special exercise room. For half an hour she performed the 108 movements of t’ai chi to center herself, to bring her back into herself, to reclaim her body from the possession of her dream attacker. She’d been taught to start from the center, the gut, then to place herself and her movement in harmony with this center. But it was this center that had been violated; it was the extremities that had been safely away, apart. These were all she owned after the nightmare. Starting from her fingertips, the exercises brought feeling in through her limbs and into her torso and feet, pushing out all unwanted intrusions and making her body and spirit whole again. Once she was back in control, she was ready for her real workout.

She did some quick stretches, then, walking to the set-in arsenal closet, she looked over her choices and finally selected a pair of long-bladed knives. She held one in each hand for a few moments, letting her fingers grow accustomed to their feel and weight. When she was ready, she closed the closet and said, “Fifteen minutes, Val, mode A.”

The lights dimmed to twilight level and the walls disappeared, replaced by an infinite plane of darkness. Jade Darcy forced herself to relax, running through the mild self-hypnotic tricks she’d learned years ago in Special Training. She put her conscious mind in the passenger seat, leaving the actual work to her subconscious, her training, and her computer-augmented reflexes. She’d watch and evaluate as a detached observer, not needing to participate unless an override was necessary.

From off to her left, barely visible in the corner of her eye, a faceless figure rushed toward her, and her body responded even before her mind registered the fact. Spinning on her left foot, she swung her left arm in a backhand slash that would have cut the attacker across his groin if he were a real person instead of a holographic image. The instant she delivered the disabling blow the image vanished, replaced by two more assailants coming from behind her.

Jade whirled and moved again, causing one of the attackers to charge past her. The second man came closer, only to receive her right-hand dagger up under where his ribs would have been. He promptly disappeared, leaving her to face the onslaught of his partner, coming around for a second pass. She didn’t even need her knives for him; the back of her left hand hit him hard in the windpipe even as her right foot lashed out to kick him in the crotch. This attacker vanished and two more appeared, coming at her from opposite directions.

By ones and twos, holographic images of attackers charged at her, all faceless, all unarmed. All of them were dispatched with effortless blows her well-trained body delivered before her brain even had a chance, in most cases, to register the threat. Her body did not seem anchored to the floor. She moved in space from her center, not her feet. There were no separate motions, but fluid cascades along four, five, or even six axes. This was routine exercise for a carc, as mindless as sit-ups were for ordinary people; Jade’s mind could revel in the sensation of her body behaving as it was supposed to, and the satisfaction of disemboweling and castrating the men who came charging toward her.

When she’d disabled the last adversary and no more came against her, the walls reappeared and the lighting came up gradually to normal level. “Fifteen minutes, as you requested,” the computer told her.

Jade Darcy stood naked and sweating in the middle of the floor. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before speaking. “Score, Val?”

“Ten dead, twenty-three incapacitated, three who might possibly have gotten up and caused further trouble.”

“Replay those three.”

Jade stepped off to one side as holographic images of her and her opponents materialized. She watched the movements carefully and saw she’d been a bit sloppy in a couple of her kicks. Viewed analytically, she realized she’d tried too hard to aim for the groin in cases where a lower kick to the kneecap would have been more effective. She knew it was still the aftermath of her nightmare—she _wanted_ to kick men in the balls after that—but it disturbed her nonetheless. The spinal computer that augmented her reflexes was supposed to be dispassionate and separate from her mind and her emotions. If even _it_ was affected by her nightmare, how deeply into her psyche had the rape been burned?

“Looks like I need some minor reprogramming,” she muttered. “Too bad there’s no one within five transfer stations who can do it.”

She sighed as she put the knives back in their place in her arsenal closet. Almost anyone, even a carc, would be satisfied with that score, considering she’d remained uninjured, but Jade Darcy was a perfectionist. Fighting was her life’s trade, the only thing that mattered to her anymore. “Pretty good” was not enough in the real world. There were only the perfect and the dead, and she was resolved to remain in the first category.

“Shower again, Val,” she said as she padded to the bathroom. This time she lathered up and washed herself thoroughly, and douched as well to remove the last psychological traces of impurity left over from the nightmare. Finally feeling cleansed, she stood under the dryer and let the moisture be evaporated from the surface of her body.

“Let’s have some breakfast, Val, while I’m deciding what to wear today. Just the usual.”

The computer’s programming could have synthesized eggs and toast, or cereal, or steak, or sashimi, or any of thousands of other combinations humans considered edible—but Jade Darcy’s diet was rigid. She always had a breakfast of her own concoction, a milkshakelike agglomeration of protein, vitamins, and all the nutritional necessities for human well-being. It was a meal devoid of taste or substance, but eating was a purely mechanical function, and Jade Darcy could see no reason to pamper herself by indulging in the decadence of pleasant sensation. A meal couldn’t be good for her if it _tasted_ good.

The bed reshaped itself into a table and bench in the center of her front room, and a slot opened in the wall to reveal a large tumbler filled with Jade’s breakfast. Jade took the tumbler and sat down on the bench, staring at the computer screen in the wall. “I’m feeling purplish today, Val. Show me what you’ve got.”

She sipped slowly at her breakfast as the screen flashed a number of designs and patterns, most of them totally inappropriate for her. She’d never told the computer to eliminate the frillier, more feminine designs from its catalog; she liked to look at them even though she knew she could never wear them. Finally the computer reached the more acceptable range and she saw a design she liked. “I’ll have that one today, Val,” she said.

Putting the tumbler with her half-finished breakfast down on the table, she crossed the room to the closet. The computer had used raw materials, both fresh and recycled from other clothes, to create the outfit Jade requested. The scents of fresh dye and the polymer catalysts were still dissipating as Jade reached for them.

She decided to give the smells a moment to fade while she did her toilet. She brushed her teeth and flossed thoroughly, then gargled her mouthwash as well. Her hair merely required two minutes’ brushing with the special dryer attachment; the short cut Val gave her each month was designed for minimal care.

Her clothing was equally efficient. Breast bands built into the leotard were made of an elastic fabric designed to minimize both bruising in a fight and breakdown of tissues even during the most rigorous movement. The material of her tights allowed enough air circulation to prevent skin and other problems while still providing decent insulation from extreme temperatures. That these features also made the most of her sleek young figure was something Jade had told Val was an unimportant by-product. Over these basics she donned the clothes of a special breakaway design that couldn’t be used to restrain her in a fight. After five minutes, Jade stepped out into the room once more. “Mirror, Val,” she said.

The entire wall beside her became reflective, allowing her a full-length glimpse of herself. She looked her image over approvingly. Her hip-length long-sleeved silky shirt was lilac with subtle swirls of darker purples and had a deep wine collar that circled her neck softly, leaving plenty of room to breathe and turn her head quickly. The slacks were a deep purple verging into black, tucked into thigh-high boots of lavender leather.

The ensemble fit closely to her short, slender body without ever restricting her total freedom of movement. In her job, movement was everything. She didn’t bother with makeup. There weren’t any other humans around here to impress, and aliens didn’t care whether her features were artificially enhanced. She had her clothes impregnated with a neutral scent that soothed most pheromone-sensitive races, and that was sufficient as perfume.

Her jet-black hair was shoulder-length, curling inward just at her neck and framing the Oriental face she’d inherited from her Japanese mother. She had brown eyes, a straight, thin nose—the only feature she’d really gotten from her father—and a sensuous mouth. She’d once taken pride in her beauty, but she no longer thought in those terms. Hers was an efficient face, and that was good enough for her.

Deciding that she looked acceptable for the day, Jade sat back down at the table to finish her breakfast. “Any mail or messages, Val?” she asked as she took another sip from the tumbler.

There was one letter, all the way from Earth, and it bore the letterhead of Verdugo and Lance Detective Agency. Jade immediately sat up straight and read it carefully, but it was simply their monthly report on the activities of Mastersergeant Jeffrey B. Barker. The subject had spent his month entirely at the training base in Java with a corps of carc trainees. There had been no unusual activities. Along with the report was their monthly bill for 250 eus.

Jade snorted. “Motherfuckers are bleeding me dry, and all they send me is garbage. What’s my credit balance, Val?”

“Fifteen thousand, three hundred seventeen energy units.”

And rent was coming up next week, too, which meant another two hundred eus shot. This two-room detached house, with its gravity generator and distance from its neighbors, was the minimum she felt she could get away with—she needed the exercise room and the higher gravity to keep herself in shape—but she still felt guilty about the extravagance. She was tempted to write Verdugo and Lance and tell them to fuck off, but she knew she didn’t dare. She had to keep tabs on Barker. She couldn’t let him get away. In his position, he could disappear at any moment, and she might never be able to find him again. She couldn’t let that happen.

“Pay their fucking bill, Val,” she sighed, knowing that and the rent would bring her well below fifteen thousand. She couldn’t hire the kind of talent she’d need with that little money. No matter how hard she worked and how tightly she saved, the money mounted up so slowly. She’d never get what she needed working for Rix. What she needed was a few more jobs, a couple of big ones. But she couldn’t go around creating them; they had to come to her, and she had to wait for them. It was very frustrating.

“There’s also a message from the K’luune, Lorpet,” Val said.

“Maybe the slimy bastard has a job for me. His last few tips paid off. Play it, Val, while I try to hold down my breakfast.”

Lorpet’s features appeared on the screen, looking like a mass of bubbling white jelly with a row of dark spots for eyes and sharp mandibles that clicked together to produce his speech. The computer translated his clicks for her.

“Greetings, worthy Jade Darcy. The humble Lorpet abases himself before your noble presence and begs your forgiveness for his intrusion into your privacy. Information has reached the attention of this unworthy one regarding the presence on Cablans of another member of your estimable race, just arrived today. Knowing this would be of interest to you, poor pitiful Lorpet hastens to contact you at your convenience to share his minuscule knowledge, and humbly awaits your decision to make an appointment. Once more, he entreats your forgiveness for presenting himself uninvited upon your notice.” Lorpet’s eyes blinked in a ritual pattern of farewell and the message faded from her screen.

Jade Darcy sat frozen in place, staring at the blank screen. Another Terran on Cablans! An animal panic, kin to her nightmare fear, paralyzed her as no physical opponent could have. She’d come all this way, to the farthest transfer station she could find, specifically to avoid other humans. For five years she’d remained alone of her kind—and now suddenly another one had shown up. What could this mean?

Shards of her nightmare flashed through her mind, and her hand twitched so badly she put her tumbler down to avoid spilling her breakfast. Closing her eyes, she performed the t’ai chi breathing discipline to restore her body and spirit to calmness. _There’s no evidence this person came for you,_ she told herself sternly. _It could be a coincidence. You’re not the center of everyone else’s universe. Other people can come here for unrelated reasons._ This litany helped her stop the fight-or-flight reaction, but did little toward releasing the knot her stomach was tied in.

She looked at the small computer screen implanted in the back of her left hand and asked, “Time?” The screen showed she had little more than an hour before she was due to start her shift at the ingesterie—not enough time to meet and deal with Lorpet. She’d have to set something up for after work. This was top priority.

“Send a message to Lorpet, Val, as follows: The unworthy Jade Darcy gratefully acknowledges the enlightening message of the most honorable and exalted Lorpet, and while she is too lowly to aspire to his level of wisdom, she begs his condescension to enlighten her further. She excuses the fact that her dreary...no, her dismal existence requires her presence at the ingesterie of Rix Kaf-Amur until 1700 hours, but she would be most honored to grovel before him at a place of his convenience at any time thereafter. End of message.” False humility was a power game to the K’luune. If she could outgrovel “poor, pitiful Lorpet”—one of the shrewdest data brokers on Cablans—perhaps she could knock his price down to something reasonable.

She went to her dresser and pulled out the accessories she’d need for the day. First was the u-trans, a small cylinder attached to a custom-molded earpiece. The curved cylinder fit around the back of her ear, making it nearly invisible. Without the u-trans she couldn’t hope to make sense of the babel that surrounded her on Cablans. She rolled up her sleeves and strapped on her other accessories—two spring-loaded knife holders, one on the inside of each forearm. She tested them to make sure they were working, then rolled her sleeves down over them and tested them again. The proper muscle contractions in her arm would send the blade into her hand, ready for action; but in the meantime the knives were out of the way and unobtrusive.

That was all the weaponry she carried. If trouble arose that she couldn’t handle with her training, her computer-augmented reflexes, and two knives, it would be such a big problem that she’d have to call for assistance anyway. There was no sense overarming herself.

She looked at herself in the mirror one more time, straightened her hair, and made sure the knives didn’t show. Jade Darcy was ready for work.

“Maintenance configuration, Val,” she said as she strode to the door, which opened obediently for her.

Standing in the doorway was a frizzlic, a small four-legged animal less than half a meter long and standing as tall as the middle of her calf. Its brown fur, streaked and spotted with patches of gray, was short and bristly. It had a small face with a long pointed snout, a white triangular marking on its forehead, and small black eyes that seemed to be all pupil. Jade had never seen a hedgehog face to face, but she could easily imagine that the frizzlic was an alien cousin to the hedgehog.

“You again,” she chided the frizzlic. “How many times have I told you not to come around here?”

The frizzlic merely made chirping sounds and rubbed its long snout against the door frame.

“You’re supposed to be feral,” Jade continued. “It says so right in my computer. I know some people make pets out of you, but you’re supposed to take care of yourself in the wild. Why don’t you do that instead of coming around here looking for handouts? It’s not good to be domesticated. You get too dependent on other people, and then when they betray you, you die.”

She looked at the screen on the back of her left hand and realized she had just enough time to get to work for the shift briefing. Her tumbler still had some of her breakfast left in the bottom—but her stomach was too queasy after Lorpet’s message to digest anything more. It would be a shame to let the stuff go to waste.

“Get me a bowl, Val,” she said. She placed the frizzlic on the ground away from the doorsill, then walked back inside and over to the wall slot, where Val had revealed a small bowl. The frizzlic followed her inside, adjusting to the higher gravity Jade kept inside her house, and trying to rub its eagerly wiggling snout against her boots. Pouring the remainder of her breakfast into the bowl, Jade strode back to the door and placed the bowl down outside, under the bushes that lined the walkway.

With a short, high-pitched squeal, the frizzlic stuck its head into the bowl, getting some of the liquid up its snout. It snorted and shook its head, then began lapping at the liquid with its little green tongue.

Jade watched it with a scornful expression. “Just don’t expect to make a habit of this, frizzlic. This is not going to be a regular relationship. The last thing in the universe I need is a fucking pet.”

She walked back into the apartment and tossed the empty tumbler into the recycle slot. Shaking her head at the silly sounds the frizzlic was making, she strode off to work. Had she realized she was humming, and a lullaby at that, she would have been very annoyed with herself.ABOUT THE AUTHORS

STEPHEN GOLDIN was born in Philadelphia in 1947 and has lived in California since 1960. He received a Bachelor’s degree in Astronomy from UCLA and worked as a civilian space scientist for the U.S. Navy for a few years after leaving college, but has made his living as a writer/editor most of his life.

He served the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America as editor of the _SFWA Bulletin_ and as the organization’s Western Regional Director. He has lived with cats all his adult life. Artistically, he enjoys Broadway musicals and surrealist art.

MARY MASON was born in Bakersfield and has lived in California all her life. She earned a Bachelor’s degree in Psychology from CSU Sacramento, and has worked counseling abused children. Her first husband was a member of “Hell Bent For Glory,” a pre-Hell’s Angels motorcycle gang, but she made the bikers check their weapons at the door and wash her dishes, in exchange for her fine cooking. Her philosophy regarding martial arts is, “My black belt beats your black belt, because my black belt’s in Smith & Wesson.” She is also a sound lady, mixing live music for bands—usually Chicago blues and S.F. rock, but also swing, folk, and both Country and Western.

She has run several Nebula Award banquets for the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America as well as science fiction conventions, and founded the 1993 San Francisco WorldCon bid. In 2012 she co-authored _Throwing Lead: A Writer's Guide to Firearms (and the People Who Use Them)_ with J. Daniel Sawyer, available at http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/134903.OTHER BOOKS BY STEPHEN GLDIN

(most titles available at your favorite ebook retailer)

Science Fiction

The Eternity Brigade

Scavenger Hunt

Assault on the Gods

A World Called Solitude

_Ghosts, Girls, & Other Phantasms_ (short story collection)

Alien Murders

Into the Out

And Not Make Dreams Your Master

Crossroads of the Galaxy

Herds

Caravan

_Trek to Madworld_ (an original Star Trek novel)

Mindsaga

Mindflight

Mindsearch

The Rehumanization of Jade Darcy (co-written by Mary Mason)

Jade Darcy and the Affair of Honor

Jade Darcy and the Zen Pirates

Agents of ISIS

Tsar Wars

Treacherous Moon

Robot Mountain

Sanctuary Planet

Stellar Revolution

Purgatory Plot

Traitors’ World

Counterfeit Stars

Outworld Invaders

Galactic Collapse

Surreal Humor

Polly!

Quiet Post

Fantasy

Angel in Black

The Parsina Saga

Shrine of the Desert Mage

The Storyteller and the Jann

Crystals of Air and Water

Treachery of the Demon King

OTHER BOOKS BY MARY MASON

Science Fiction

The Rehumanization of Jade Darcy (co-written by Stephen Goldin)

Jade Darcy and the Affair of Honor

Jade Darcy and the Zen Pirates

Nonfiction

Throwing Lead: A Writer's Guide to Firearms (and the People Who Use Them) (co-written by J. Daniel Sawyer)