They sent a harvester.
Of
course
they would! But it didn't have to be Annalise! That was just their perversity; just the kind of sick, willful infliction of casual torture that they so desperately needed to mete out on a regular basis in order to insulate themselves from any examination of just how fragile their awesome power was at its core.
Fuck them. I didn't care about them. I'd stopped caring about them parsecs ago.
They clearly hadn't forgotten me.
"That's far enough," I tell her. I make no move towards any of the dozen or so weapons on my person or in easy reach. Annalise knows me well enough to know that I never say 'stop' twice.
She comes to a halt just a meter and a half away. I could have ended her at any point between there and where she touched down just a klick away. She knew that. She'd counted on me wanting to see her.
So had her masters.
I wasn't sure that I did.
For one thing, I was just a bit put the fuck off by the cheesy chemical augments. Even at a distance, she reeked of the free, sexual, self-possessed woman she used to be before they cyborged the shit out of her. I didn't even know if she still possessed any of the biological structures that had once made that heady cocktail of hormones, pheromones, and body scents. Even if the factories were still original, the fact that they'd been augmented with the intention of weaponizing them disgusted me.
It was a total turn off.
Only nobody sent that message to my midbrain. Or to my cock and balls. My thick little saber was dialed all the way the fuck up and straining at my breeches.
"What the actual...," I start.
She cuts me off. "Aylen, you
know
why I'm here. Please..."
"Please what!? Please don't make this difficult?! For me? For you? For us? What the actual star-trekking
fuck
, 'Lise? You're a Farce-damned Quadrant Praetor now. You can tell them to go fuck themselves! Send somebody else!"
She just looks at me.
"But you didn't," I observe superfluously.
"You'd have killed anyone else by now," she notes dryly.
"No shit," I retort.
"And then they'd have sent in my First Squad."
"And I'd have..."
"You'd have
killed
some of them, Aylen. Maybe most of them. Even one of them would have hurt. Hurt
me
to lose. We're... all close."
I'm just about to work up some kind of a heartless 'fuck all you Imperial Bitches' response when she presses on.
"But! Before another moon dawned on this frakkng rock, they'd have ripped you off it and stuffed you in a pain box and dumped you in my fucking headquarters to deal with. I didn't want that.
That's
what I couldn't frelling bear!"
When she gets really emotional her Galaxy Standard lapses back into the accents and vocabulary of her Sebac upbringing. Our upbringing.
I sit, immobile.
"Please," she says again. The corners of her lips and eyes bent towards me, compelling, plaintive.
Frell! Frak! Fuck!
I extemporize, hoping to give my rage time to subside enough that I could get through what I'd decided to endure without doing anything stupid.
"What happened to the sample you already collected? What was it; three years ago now? The last time we..."
The last time I'd seen Annalise in all of her flesh and none - or, almost none - of... this.
"Aylen, I... We... used all of it."
"I can't imagine you had any yield problems. Seriously: How many brutally-indoctrinated crèche creeps does the empire fucking need!?"
"You'd be surprised," she sighes in an unusually unguarded tone. Fuck! I only hope, in spite of myself, that she isn't being monitored by a whole control room full of technothugs. Deep down I know there is nearly zero chance of that. I'm about to give a bunch of my semen to my now-cyborg ex-girlfriend in front of an audience of interplanetary dickheads.
"But it's you," she starts again, "your genetics...," she corrects herself, then, "No.
You!
You're
special! You
know
you're special!"
"To them," I state flatly.
She hears the accusation all the same. She strides forward two unhesitating steps and leans in close, her eyes boring into mine, her face a sudden wash of tenderness that I could almost hope wasn't the result of carefully rehearsed programming.
"To me!" Her hushed voice is insistent. "That's never changed, Aylen! And it never will!" I could almost buy it. But since there is near zero chance that simple hushed intimate whispering will confound the censors, I know that it all has to be part of the program. Still, a part of me wants to believe... even if only to help get me through what I know has to come next.
"So you blew my whole wad in just three years," I scoff. "Not for nothing, but it was a huge fucking wad! I still remember it," I add, hoping that somehow I can reach some still-vulnerable part inside her and either soothe or hurt it. I almost really didn't care which.
"I do too," she counters. "And it was! And..." she looks half at me and half through me. " and I wanted... I asked them to let me keep it! A part of it anyway. A part of you." She's laying it on pretty thick.
"They said no," I conclude for her. It wasn't a question. Her expression confirms it, though. "We all make choices," I nearly spit, and it registers; just a micro-expression of the felt sting. Or a manufactured bit of theater.
"You think..." she starts, then reconsiders. She regards me for a long moment, then leans back. She squats in front of me until she's at eye level, as if sitting opposite me. Without a chair. Good exercise if you're all natural. Nothing at all if you've got servos that can just lock out the right actuators. Not at all the right pose if she's trying to appeal to me. But she keeps going, on a bit different track. "Aylen. I understand that it all looked like this sudden thing to you. I understand that that was traumatic."
I bark a short. bitter laugh.
"I'm going to tell you something about trauma: Fast can be better than slow."
"Zen wisdom from the inquisitors?"
She ignores my barb and regards me with seeming tenderness. She looks vulnerable. She looks like she really needs me to listen.
Fuck it. It works. I let my biology have its run and I relax, just listening.
She begins her confession with, "The last time... wasn't the first time."
I feel my blood rise. "You... Fuck! I... FUCK!" I get to my feet in an angry flash. She ststands up in front of me. My heart seeths and my breathing trembles.
"Here I thought," I say as evenly as I could manage, "that you just sold out, cashed out, and ran! Are you telling me that you fucking
farmed
me!? For them!? For... how frelling long!?"
She takes a half step back. I follow her; whether to stay in her face or to make sure I can grapple her if she goes for a weapon I can't say. Probably both.
"How.
Fucking
.
Long?!
"
"They came for me while you were away," she blurts. An actual tear starts at the corner of one eye. "You we're gone so long! Only not. I just thought it was so long because... I held out! Oh! How I fucking held out, hoping! It was no use!"
I know more than I ever wanted to know about Imperial methods. I... I just can't bring myself to imagine Annalise undergoing the least of their procedures. And so I can't let it be real for me. Yet. I can't let go of my anger. And right now my anger runs deep and wide, covering the entire empire and Annalise with it. And some of myself, too.
"When," I ask quietly, seething and teetering on the edge of a half dozen horribly irrevocable choices.
"The last time you went out with... your school chum." She's careful not to mention names or any more details then necessary. Curious.
I know she means Kavyn, my sometime contact in... let's say unsanctioned ventures. But that was nearly four...
"A
year
!?" I husk, "A whole,
fucking
year
?!" My mind floods with all the highlights of our last, idyllic year together. All the quiet, contented moments. Dinners. Walks. Holding hands. Every single time we'd made love...
Every single time we'd bounced together, for a whole fucking year, I was ejaculating into the fucking empire's fucking elite troop breeding program.
Paartha shit!
I spin on my heel and stalk back through the garden to my back porch. Annalise followes me, her tread nearly silent for all of her new mass. I change course in the atrium and glide to the bar, pulling a bottle of Rylak malt off the top of the bar and pouring a full tumbler, straight.
"Aylen," she starts softly. I thrust one hand up, preemptively silencing her as I chug a long, rough guzzle off of the top of the glass. It burnes all the way down and bracesd me, body and mind.