Rogue in Velvet

Chapter Three

     It had started snowing, a light sprinkling of fine flakes, just before their taxi pulled up at the gates to the Civic Spacedock, a large, flat parking space for small privately owned stellar vessels.
     Eri’s heart sank, gazing out of the taxi window at the quiet fleet of small ships and waiting while Iios paid the driver. She’d been hoping he was taking her to a city apartment, or a house, or maybe even just a hotel room, and once she’d recovered her wits she could have attempted an escape, but if he was planning on taking her offworld altogether, that would make things a lot more complicated. Couldn’t very easily make a run for it, for one! Couldn’t even so much as lean out of the window and yell for help.
     His ship, parked in the near corner near a bright floodlight, was a sleek, elegant little silvery-blue yacht named Auspice. It was probably big enough to comfortably house four or five individuals, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he might be keeping stashed aboard. He spoke a command that she didn’t understand into a small handheld communications beacon, and Auspice’s main atmosphere door slid open, a short, broad ramp extending to the ground beneath it. Eri contemplated making a break for it, while they waited, but she guessed he was probably as fast as he was strong, and making him chase her would quite possibly make her position worse.
     Instead, Eri remained where she was, her unprotected toes aching from the frosting ground. She gave a start at feeling his stiffened fingers poked into her spine, coaxing her along in front of him, up the ramp, and she felt another of those clutches of dismay as she passed through the heavy atmosphere door, over the threshold, and into the ship’s atrium. You’re in his territory now, she reminded herself. You’ve stepped into the monster’s den. You’ll be lucky if it doesn’t eat you for your impudence.
     “What do you plan on doing with me now?” she asked, softly, as he whistled an unnecessarily complex Ve-hei’yan keycode to the computer and all the lights came up to ambient. “You, um… you can’t just keep me here.”
     “Why not?” he looked up from his computer, fastening the door closed against the winter weather, and smiled that beautiful and chilling smile of his. “I have food and accommodation for you, and bathing amenities, and it’s warm and sheltered. You’ll be the most excellently looked-after prisoner in the history of hostage-taking.”
     “Until you get bored of having to look after me, and kill me?” she wondered, quietly, as his fingers closed on her upper arm and coaxed her away down the main corridor. The carpet was pleasantly thick, and soft against her cold toes, but she barely felt it.
     “Oh, come now, remember our bargain?” he patted her shoulder, tenderly, and led her up a shallow curving staircase towards the upper floor. “If I didn’t kill you, you in turn wouldn’t squeak about my nature. You may not have anyone to squeak to, but I have every intention of honouring my end of the bargain. I won’t harm a single hair on that fluffy head.” He petted her ears, amusedly, as one might stroke a pet.
     She had to work hard to disguise a shudder at his uninvited touch. Having him manhandle her about was one thing, but having his affections was incomprehensible.
     “Here we are,” he paused by a closed door, and released her arm while he unlocked it. “Your new home. I’ll bring you some supper later.” He gave her a push, stumbling her into the room, and the door sliced shut behind her, almost catching her tail.
     “Wait-!” she turned to face the pale cream panel, but there was predictably no reply when she banged her flattened palms against it. “Goddess damn it, Iios,” she muttered under her breath, and spent a perfunctory five minutes looking for the lock, until the realisation she’d have nowhere to go even if she got out of this room sank in. There was no way she’d ever be able to replicate that warbling keycode for the main door.
     She sighed, and turned back to examine her new (hopefully temporary) home. The room itself was pleasant, if fairly sparsely decorated – the walls were a plain cream, the carpet a soft red-brown, the bed a single mattress dressed with layers of beige and cream blankets. The fact it was a bedroom concerned her a little, but then he’d implied a deep distaste for anything remotely sexual and in a strange way it gave her confidence that he wasn’t going to jump on her, wasn’t going to molest her, and wasn’t going to impale her on the huge synthetic penis she imagined down his trousers. She was just a prisoner, not a sex-slave to a crazy machine.
     Grimly, she went over to the window, wondering if there’d be anyone outside she could wave frantically at, maybe attract a rescue party. The viewport was large – it even had curtains! – and would have a panoramic view of the stars once they got underway. For now, it just looked out over the silent, deserted spaceport, pools of brightness beneath the floodlights highlighted by the flurries of snow that were sprinkling from the sky in greater earnest, now. There was no-one out there, though – not in the cold outdoors, and nowhere she could see in the ships, either. A few vessels had inner lights turned on, but they all had privacy screens up, frosting the lights into soft blurs. For all she knew, the outside of her own window might have one-way silvering, so even if there had been anyone out there, she could have waved until she collapsed of exhaustion and still not been seen.
     She sighed, pressed her fingers against the thickened, insulated window, and watched snowflakes stick and melt against the glass. The window was cool against her fingertips, and she shivered in spite of her coat.
     So how do you plan on getting out of this one, girl? There’s got to be some way of getting a message out… tried your mobile, yet? She emptied her handbag and dug through her meagre possessions, fished out her mobile communicator, but it informed her “no signal” and scuppered her attempt at contacting Uuvern before it had even started. There was a small computer terminal and a chair in the corner – maybe that’d have a comms module? – but after a few minutes poking and prodding, checking and double-checking connections, she’d satisfied herself she wouldn’t get it to activate. He must have disconnected it at its source, somehow.
     She sighed, defeated, and plonked herself down on the bed. Face it. He’s smarter than you are – he’s probably thought of things you never even considered – and you can be sure you won’t get out of this until he lets you.
     As he’d promised, he brought her some supper – at least, a cup of tea and some biscuits – which he left on a worktop just inside the door, gracing her with a wordless smile. The biscuits were sweet, but dry (could have done with some light cheese to go with them), and the tea was not only insipid, it was too sweet to drink. She ate what she could – it didn’t help that her throat had long ago parched with dismay, and swallowing the sweet crackers was almost impossible – then stripped off her coat and fancy dress, irritable at the way it had matted up her fur, leaving the fabric rumpled on the floor at the end of the bed.
     She curled up under the sheets, convinced she wasn’t going to get any sleep. She felt nauseated, and shaky, and couldn’t dislodge the fears from her mind – what’s he going to do with me, where’s he going to take me, what happens when he gets tired of feeding me? Will he just… dump me off somewhere? Find a habitable world and leave me there? No communications, no way of getting home?
     She must have gone to sleep in the end after all, she later realised, as everything grew surreal and dreamlike. He came back and retrieved the tray with her cup and plate, leaving in its place a collar, which she studied from a distance but didn’t touch. Her room was considerably larger than she recalled it had been, the entire end wall open to space (although somehow retaining atmosphere), and her bed was gone, replaced by banks of computer equipment.
     She settled herself on the floor of the small bridge, at her captor’s feet, and felt his fingers brush idly and affectionately through her hair. He had a pleasant touch, one she had to resist the urge to lean in to, and instead she concentrated on her collar and her outrage at having to wear it. How dare he treat me like a pet. She grumbled softly and wordlessly under her breath, then heard his laugh from somewhere above, and shuffled out of reach of his fingers when he touched her ears.
     A breath of sound from the real doorway disturbed her from dreamland, and she had to very briefly just double-check she wasn’t wearing the collar. (She was relieved at finding her throat was unadorned.) She looked up, blearily; he’d already vanished, but just inside the door was a new tray, with a steaming cup and a plate of somethings. At least he’s not going to starve me, she considered, gathering the sheet around herself and hobbling to the door, like a giant caterpillar. Well, that’s the idea, at least, I suppose. And at least there’s no collar to go with it! The plate held a slice of plain toast and some chunks of bright fruit, and the cup had some kind of strong, milky tea. Uninspiring. She took the plate anyway, and sat on her bed staring out of the window.
     So now what happens? she wondered, quietly, chewing on the toast and watching as the murky streetlight-tinged grey dawn evened out into a slightly lighter grey morning. He can’t keep me cooped up in here forever. Can he?
     Iios came back to retrieve her tray after an hour or so, when the last of the streetlights had flickered and gone out and the port had started to wake up. He’d changed his hairstyle, she noticed – it wasn’t the floppy mane that had made him so peculiarly attractive the previous evening, but sleek, velvet short, almost shaved. His clothing was different, too – not the crisp suit and tie, but a lazy pair of grey-green trousers and a close-fitting white short-sleeved shirt. He looked almost thuggish, by comparison.
     “Why don’t you ever talk to me?” Eri asked, softly, as he picked up the tray from the worktop inside the door and turned to go.
     “Do you have something to say that I may be interested in?” he asked, pausing.
     “Well, I don’t know-”
     He shrugged, and returned to the doorway.
     “Hey! Hey, wait–… see?” she went over to him. “That’s what I mean. You’re acting as though I have no possible worth to you except as a guarantee your dirty little secret won’t get out.”
     “It isn’t a dirty little secret,” he corrected, evenly. “And you don’t really have much worth to me, do you? You being here serves no useful purpose.”
     “If that’s the case, what happens when you decide you’re tired of having to look after me?” she caught his arm, and noticed a look of distaste flashed very briefly through his eyes. “You promised not to hurt me, remember?”
     “A promise I intend to honour,” he confirmed, removing his arm from her grip. “As for what happens later… we will see.”
     “And in between times? What am I supposed to do, just sit here?”
     He shrugged, offhand. “Do what pleases you, m’chi.”
     “Oh for goodness-… Last night-… Last night you were almost being nice to me! You were talkative and polite and-”
     “That was last night,” he corrected, facing her from the hallway, one hand holding the tray and one hand on the lock. “This morning I have prior arrangements, and spending time talking about unnecessary subjects does not get those things done. Good day to you.” And the door closed.
     “How can someone so supposedly clever be so damn stupid?” she yelled, at the door, and hammered her palms against it, but there was predictably no response. “You can’t keep me cooped up in here!! This is an illegal act, I swear I’ll call the law down on you…!!”
     She knew that if he even heard her, he’d have immediately recognised it as an empty threat – she had no way to call the police, after all! – and she stamped around for a few minutes, itching to break something (if just to sate her anger). Fear of what he might do to her if she did break something cooled her fury, though – she’d not seen him angry, and didn’t really want to. He didn’t have to hurt her to make her life even more miserable.
     After spending a fruitless hour trying to find the controls for the door, removing panels from the wall and finding a maze of incomprehensible silver wiring and Kiravai script, she spent the rest of her morning moping, alternating between watching the world become whiter as a growing blizzard painted over the details outside, and laying on her bed and using a fingernail to draw patterns of grooves in the sheets. There was nothing at all that she could do – nothing.
     He brought her lunch at exactly four minutes past sun-high, according to the clock on her mobile communicator. It looked almost like he’d made an effort, compared with her bland breakfast – cold cuts, salad, some kind of seeded cracker, a light, sweetened porridge, and sweet Unserian jek-mar, a spicy hot drink brewed from a dried lichen.
     “Thank you,” she said, quietly, as he set the tray down on the same worktop just inside the door, then added, before he vanished; “Can I ask something?”
     He cocked his head, but didn’t just shrug it off and abandon her like he had last time. Must not be so terribly ‘busy’ right now. “All right,” he acknowledged, pausing obediently in the doorway. “You may ask, provided you accept that I can’t guarantee the answer will be to your liking.”
     “It’s not too outrageous a request,” she smiled, tiredly. “I just want something to read.”
     He quirked an eyebrow. “What like?”
     “Well… Have you got any books? Any magazines? A newspaper?” she spread her hands, helplessly. “I don’t care, just get me something to do. Because I swear, if you don’t find me something to occupy my thoughts, I’ll bodily assault you next time you come in, just for something to do!”
     He frowned, irritably. “I’ll see what I can do,” he grumbled, turning away.

To be continued