than nothing. I don’t even know her. Up until this morning I wasn’t even aware
she existed. So okay, he’s all set to torture and humiliate her,
probably—knowing Strasser—in the most gross and obscene and bloody way, but so
what? So fucking what?
Angry, his face set, feeling strangely betrayed, he stared at the scene in front
of him. Strasser grinned like a malignant ape, the guards gazed lustfully at the
girl, and the girl herself, a gag in her mouth, her rich red hair scraped back
into a tightly knotted pony-tail, tensed her body against the two-handed grip of
her captors. Her face, Ryan noted automatically, was expressionless. There was
no way of telling what she was thinking either from her features or from her
eyes. It looked as if she had somehow blanked herself out, consciously wiped
herself clean of all emotion. If this was so, he wondered how long it would
last.
He was attracted to her, deeply attracted. There were depths to her he had
rarely seen in other women, a fact that had been clear to him in the few hours
they’d been together and had talked. There’d been a possibility that she was
worth pursuing. That had ended when he’d learned the shattering news that most
of the Trader’s people on this trip were dead, nerved out, her among them. And
that had been that. What did they used to say? “Ships that pass in the
night”—yeah. No big deal. No heavy stuff. Nothing. Forget it. It had not only
never gotten anywhere, it had never even started.
The momentary ache had been for something that might have been, and that was
only maybe, anyway. So forget it.
And now here she was, alive.
He was aware that the squat man with the red nose had been saying something to
Strasser, something about him, his face alive with ghoulish glee.
Strasser chuckled. “Never mind Ryan. He’s in a dream. This one’ll soon wake him
up. The way she’ll be screaming will be enough to waken a dead man. Strip her.”
Ryan watched, blank faced, as the squat man said, “With pleasure!” and walked
toward the girl. He placed both hands on her breasts and began clutching at
them, squeezing them roughly. Anger and loathing flared in Krysty’s eyes.
Strasser said severely, “No time for that, Keiber. I promised Ryan this would
not take long.”
Keiber said, “Shit, sir. Won’t be nothin’ left to have fun with once we’re
finished with the bitch, reamed her out.”
“Alas, no,” said Strasser. “It does seem a shame, all things considered. She’s
certainly a delightful-creature. But you are so right, Keiber, there will not be
much left in the, ah… organic sense once we’re done. But what must be must be.”
“Couldn’t we just use the prod?” said Keiber. “You know I’m good with the prod,
sir. Got it down to a real fine art. You know I can make her jump, and it won’t
damage the merchandise.” As an afterthought he said, “Well, not too much,
anyway.”
“No prod, Keiber,” said Strasser, wagging a bony finger at him as though at a
naughty child who must be indulged only up to a certain point. “I know you’re a
devil with the prod, Keiber. But no prod.”
Ryan discovered his mouth was dry and he swallowed, tried to bring spit up into
his throat. All this was solely for his benefit, he knew; a cruel and ghastly
jest. A sickening parody of polite and civilized behavior that only someone like
Strasser would get off on.
Keiber went quickly to work, himself clearly bored with all this funning around
that his master enjoyed. He pulled off her boots, unzipped the green jump, and,
while the two guards held her, stripped it off. By this time Krysty was kicking,
struggling. But the two guards were beefy. They merely held her all the tighter,
laughing at her struggles.
Kelber unzipped the one-piece body sheath underneath and peeled it slowly
downward, first revealing her breasts, full yet firm, hanging free, then her
taut stomach and the softly swelling roundness of her lower belly, the titian
triangle of hair at her thighs sharply etched against the whiteness of her skin.