Acts of Conscience (21 page)

I could just feel the outline of her vulva, a soft indentation, a place of slightly greater heat, through the stretchy cloth. Her face rolled against my shoulder, and I could feel her nip at me, a tiny bite of small teeth through my shirt.

Well then. I let my hand go up on her belly and found the waistband of her tights, felt a twist of relief that it wasn’t a body stocking after all, pulled it down a bit and put my fingers inside. Soft skin, smooth over tight muscle, short, crisp, dense hair, wiry, like the hair of a man’s beard. Fingers running down into the hair, smoothing it apart, parting a soft double-dome of flesh, finding her already wet and slick and...

She grabbed at my hand, pulled it away, pulled it out of her pants, shoving it back between her legs as she smoothed her skirt into place, whispering in my ear, “...
è khrístoi
, Gaetan, take it easy! We’ll go to my apartment later on.”

Heart pounding horribly in my chest, like someone giving me CPR. I think I must have been about two minutes from throwing her on the floor and... She slid her hand between my legs, palpating the front of my pants, encircling what she found there with thumb and forefinger, giving it a little shake, a soft giggle, and, “...if you
can
wait! Anyway, the show’s about to start...”

As if on her cue a spotlight blinked on, shining not down into the pit but onto a man standing on a little platform above its rim, short, fat guy in what looked like a twentieth-century tuxedo, outfit seen in so many of those reconstituted old movies. Shouting now, “Ladies and gentlemen, for our first contest...” Stirring throughout the big room, a scraping of chairlegs as people turned away from their tables, turning to face the pit. The man said, “
Prince Juggernaut of Hemmelmans
, a white, victor by kill in seven contests, by withdrawal in fourteen, never defeated, never withdrawn...”

Mira said, “Well. That’s a pretty high card for a first event.”

The man said, “...versus
Terror Incendiary of Koelhartz
, a green, victor by withdrawal in three prior contests.”

Telektasos said, “Oh, for Christ’s sake! Greens are no fucking good!”

Not a clue. All right, boxers seldom kill one another. Even in the old days, back when... memories of ancient Rome, of Byzantium. These are
Greeks
after all. Greens and Whites and the chariot races, gladiatorial schools for the Blues and Reds... Mira said, “I don’t see why the hell they just don’t pit whites against whites and leave it at that.”

Melîna: “You know, if they accidentally got two from the same tribe, they’d be able to talk to one another, maybe cook something up and...”

Talk to one another
?

Telektasos: “Well, grays are pretty good too, and there’re plenty of them over in the western Opveldt. If they’d just fucking forget about the God damned greens and reds, not to mention those useless, fat fucking browns...”

One of the doors down below slid open with a rough, raw scrape of wood on stone, and the crowd grew silent, something of a hush falling over the chamber. I think I leaned forward in my seat, trying to peer down through the bright light, penetrate the darkness beyond the doorframe.

A... glimmer? As of light from two big eyes. It came out then, very slowly, craning it’s neck, looking around, obviously frightened, and Telektasos said, “Look at that, for Christ’s sake.” Withering contempt in his voice.

Melîna said, “Well, the second and third events will be better.” Hand still resting between my legs, not far from my balls, warm on the inside of my thigh.

The thing down below was fully exposed now, slinking along the base of the wall, looking up at us, pressed belly-down in the sand, as if trying to make itself look small. Trying to hide, I thought. Other than that murky green fur, it wasn’t very different from the wolfen I’d seen in the zoo back on Earth. Or the ones I’d glimpsed in the distance earlier this week.

So. Green wolfen. Memories of my childhood netvid dramas, memories of my dreams, telling me this was a denizen of the dank Mistibos forest, beyond the Opveldt in the area just south of the equator, where the Somber River flowed down to the sea.

Up and down the aisles between the tables now, men and women were walking back and forth, “Bets? Place your bets! Two minutes, ladies and gentlemen! Place your bets!”

Two minutes to what?

Don’t have to be a genius to figure that out.

In all sorts of old dramas, you see things like this. Read about it in old books. Maybe it makes you mad if you’re the sort who... Something very different when it’s
real
I guess. I...

The other door slid open. Melîna breathing, “Now...”

When the white wolfen sprang out onto the sand, huge, fur bristling, mottled orange eyes seeming to bug from its head, I felt Melîna tense with excitement. And, down below, the green seemed to shrivel, cowering, looking around.

No where to go, it’s own door long closed, door through which the white had come already scraping shut. Faraway throb of a growl from the white. Then a whisper from the green, high and soft,
ah-werroowaahhhh
... trailing away to nothing.

White wolfen motionless, looking at the green. It seems as if they’re looking into each other’s eyes, but, with that mottled effect, no visible pupil, no differentiated iris. The white grunted, once, twice, each an abrupt sound, green flinching with each... word?

Telektasos said, “Oh, hell...”

And the white sprang, one, two, three bounds, all the way across the ring, sand flying from beneath its heavy paws, green jerking, trying to get out of the way... Useless. Green flattened under the white’s weight, crying out, I could imagine a frightened man’s voice, wailing,
Oh, God!
Oh, God!
If you listen closely, you can hear that piquant horror.

Remember watching all those old films? Nature, the narrator says, red in tooth and claw. The lion grabs the antelope in its jaws, antelope’s eyes wide, stark with terror, bleating with agony as long white fangs stab inward and the blood begins to flow. Surely. Surely divine Providence has seen fit to make it, somehow, painless, somehow... Or does the antelope experience all the horrors of hell in its last long, terrible moments?

Ask this green wolfen now, wolfen torn open, sprawling in the sand, internal organs spilling out through that vast rip, spilling out on the sand in a wet, yellow-brown stain... Green wolfen looking up at us, gasping,
Ohhhh, ohhhh
... Soft words, full of dread.

Then the white wolfen stood over the dead green, silent, sitting on its haunches, one big paw on its victim’s motionless head, looking up at us, looking around them room, as if... The announcer said, “
Prince Juggernaut of Hemmelmans
, victor by a kill!”

When its door slid open, the white walked away into the darkness without a backward glance. When the green’s door slid open, three stooping men came out, two of them dragging
Terror Incendiary of Koelhartz
away, the third setting to work, smoothing the bloody sand with a short rake, turning it over, covering up the mess.

Mira said, “Well! That was better than I expected!”

Telektasos: “Yeah, there’s something to be said for a quick kill.”

Melîna: “What did you think, Gaetan? You ever see anything like that before?”

Slowly, “I went to a bullfight on Mars once. It was... a little like this.” No sense in telling them it was a Mexican format contest, where they don’t kill the bull.

Mira said, “That so? Isn’t a bull some kind of cow? Doesn’t seem like that’d be very...”

I reached down and pulled Melîna’s hand out of my lap, stood up slowly. She looked up at me, puzzled. “Something the matter?”

I said, “I’ve got to pee. I’ll right back.”

A sharp grin. “Want me to order you another drink?” “Sure.”

I walked away, headed for where I thought the restrooms would be. Walked away into the gloom and right out the door.

Outside in the cold, I stood leaning against the metal wall of the building, feeling my heart, still pounding in my chest. For Christ’s sake, they’re just
animals
! What difference does it make? Get back in there and watch the rest of it. Let her take you home. Remember the way her pussy felt under your fingers? Remember how
ready
you were?

Hand on my chest now, not damp any more of course, but... that lingering, residual scent of... I got off the wall, made one step back toward the door, then turned and ran, away into the darkness.

o0o

I found myself, after what seemed like no more time than it takes a star to move its own breadth, walking up a familiar-looking street, coming into an area of brightly-lit stores, restaurants and shops and whatnot. Familiar, perhaps, because I’m... wandering around in a finite space, night after night after...

I stopped in front of a barroom, looking in through a poorly cleaned window, clear glass rimed with white grime. Men and women at the bar, sucking from bottles of beer, men and women at tables, pouring from bottles, drinking from glasses, laughing, talking...

I could use a drink.

Go on in.

Turning away then, stomach churning briefly. Too many dinners, drinks, too much... Face covered with cold, unpleasant sweat, a sweat as of sickness. Go on home. No, not home. Go on back to your hotel room, at least. Go to sleep. In the morning you’ll... think of something.

Walking on down the street a ways, heading out of the light, back into the darkness. You know the way. At the end of the street, on the corner, opposite a big parking lot full of dark, empty ground cars, three women stood together, talking, idle, merely...

The women saw me coming, looked at each other, nonverbal communication in swift cascade. Right. Yours. See ya. The designated hitter came sauntering over, smiling, making those come-fuck-me moves, hips rolling just so, pelvis tilted, back arched, tits sticking out, cloth of her bandeau stretched tight, long legs, long hair, dark and oh-so-hollow eyes...

Somewhere in my head a little voice, my own almost certainly, screamed, What the fuck is
wrong
with you?

She came up to me, still smiling, teeth fine and white, eyes a wet glitter under her brows, not hesitant at all. Reached up and touched the side of my face, as if... jerked her hand away just a bit, feeling my cold sweat on her fingertips. Small trace of frown then. A problem here?

She said, “You OK, brother?”

I nodded slowly, looking down at her. Something of a scent in the air, overpowering the complex street smell. Pheromones? Something like that. I nodded slowly, feeling an urge to just...

Her smile came back, a little more tentative than before. She reached up again, smoothing her hand across my cheek, accepting the sweat, no sign of revulsion. What would you expect? Think of what she
does
, idiot. Her hand went on, fingers running up into my dank hair, stopping when they came to the barrette.

“What’s this?” Honestly puzzled.

Well, of course. Men don’t wear jewelry here. I thought of just telling her I was a fag, preparatory to running for it again, feeling like a still bigger idiot... the translator told me it’d have to use a term that meant, roughly, a boy who likes to have sexual intercourse with the assholes of tender, young piglets and... Great. Forget it.

I shrugged, and said, “How much?”

She rolled her eyes, definite sense of
good grief
conveyed. “Half-drack.”

Half a
drakhma
. At the apparent exchange rate generated by my letter of credit, we’re talking two seconds of prime time netvid service charge here. “OK.”

A little look of surprise, as if she’d expected me to haggle, then she took my big, hard, blunt-fingered hand in her small, warm, soft one, led me away toward the mouth of a black alleyway. Pang of fear, of unease, at least? Nonsense. You’ve got that little gun in your pocket, remember?

Then we were standing in the greater darkness, in the deep shadow behind one of those big metal dumpsters that seemed to inhabit every alley in Orikhalkos. As my eyes adjusted, I saw first the white of her teeth, then the glint of her eyes, finally the rest of her coming out in fine shades of gray.

She said, “Do you mind doing it standing up?” A gesture round, at the filthy pavement, where who knows what had been spilled and never cleaned up.

I shrugged. “Fine.”

She leaned back against the wall, her chosen patch of bricks perhaps, cleaned by daylight, planting her feet just so, pretty far apart, knees slightly bent, pelvis cocked, weight mainly on her shoulders, position assumed in a single, fluid, practiced movement. Pulled up the front of her little skirt, no underwear, no hair, pussy shaved clean. There you go, pal.

Not bad looking, even in this pale gray light, with her arms and legs, face and hair and everything vanished from my consciousness for a moment, just that flat white belly, shining by starlight, little shadows cast by the edges of her hipbones, raised ever so slightly above the surrounding topography, the dim crease of her vulval slit. I...

Well. I kneeled in front of her, looking up into the shadows of face. No expression there. “Do you... mind?”

Voice neutral: “Help yourself.”

Christ. How the Hell could she
mind
? Think of what her life must be like, peckerhead. I leaned forward, eyes closed, slid my face across her smooth belly. Stuck out my tongue and tasted her, tasted a tang I imagined must be other men, soft, slick on my cheeks, hardly a hint of stubble.

Then I was standing again, standing close to her, my pants undone, fallen a bit, just enough, my hands behind and under her, little round asscheeks cupped in my palms, lifting her up, prick pointing in more or less the right direction, probing, probing...

That faint, familiar dread.

What if...

I felt her take it in her hand, aim it just so, guiding my thrust.

I slid in, into the hot and wet of her, felt the muscular stricture of her introitus go past the end of my glans, down along less sensitive but more...
feeling
skin, down as far as it could go. Felt her settle herself just right against the wall, feet off the ground, knees beyond the sides of my thighs, feet down on the backs of my legs, head tucked up onto my shoulder. Whisper in my ear, hardly audible, like a sigh, “
OK, brother
.”