Polarisian Multiverse Bk 02 Ch 01

POLARIS: BOOK 2, Ch. 1 - Enslaved in Mangaia

Bonney searches for the missing Thea in the dimension called Mangaia

Mangaia. One of the lesser-known dimensions. Lesser-known not because of lack of interest, but because all those with the interest seemed to be going, or at least wanting to go there. No hard reports from anyone who had come from there. It was conceivable that the rumors and the mystery of Mangaia contributed to its popularity. It certainly seemed more conceivable than the rumors themselves. Untold riches. Pleasures and fantasies come true. It was the kind of place where someone who hit the jackpot would go.

How to get there? For those who could afford them, and winning the lottery was one of the few ways, there were tickets on the Trans-Dimensional Express which came through Polaris every so often. What did you do once you were there? Spend your money, if you had any left after the ticket, was the best guess.

So, how was a mercenary from The Nadir going to get there? You made good money at your jobs, but nowhere near enough. You hounded LEO Detective Silence, and his troop of computer-nerd robot researchers, looking for a crack, another way in. Pacing in the basement computer lab, where the air conditioning made the stone walls sweat, you rebounded from one wall to another, cursing the killer and the cops and the city that had brought Thea to you and taken her away - until Silence brought out the ticket from his trench coat. Paid for with police funds, paid for with the money raised to hunt the killer, money raised at her last concert, money donated by the killer himself.

Waiting for the next train, you used your time to plan, to prepare. More hours on the computer, garnering tibdits from traders who knew someone who had traded with a Mangaian merchant. Amazingly, the language was recorded at the PubLib, Polaris's public library. You were injected with a "language bug," a cross between a computer virus and a human one, that spread in your system and gave you lingual ability in your selected tongue. It was amazing, the change from Mangaian sounding like gibberish to sudden fluency.

Clothes: simple flowing robes in white, with a wrapped scarf headdress. Sturdy boots. Bladed weapons common, guns less so but not unknown. So, your saber, a small push-knife, your .45, and of course, the touchstone blade.

You slept as much as possible on the train, the better to have fully alert senses on your arrival. The station was a dusty little outpost outside tall city walls. Through the gates and into a manic bazaar, booths, and vendors everywhere, delights to tempt the fancy and the purse. You ignored these, threading through the crowd to the second set of walls in the distance. There was a city within the city, the palace compound, of which most men on the street only dreamed.

Not you. Even if Thea weren't in there, you wanted to operate from a position of power. You were playing personality against blades now. There were pairs of guards, distinguished by their black robes, who challenged you periodically. Each set you told you had an appointment with the Chancellor of the Palace, giving your name, at various times, as "Carlos," "Hussein," "Qaddafi," and "Khomeini." Finally, at the black iron gates to the palace compound itself, you were passed through as "Oswald" and escorted to a dim room. Along the way you saw long halls, arches open to breezes, with rose marble floors, tan marble walls, and black marble accents. Light and cool. And empty. In the room, arched openings on one side to a garden, a low table was centered with tapestry cushions around it. Tapestries and velvet drapes covered the walls, some in dark patterns, some with battle pictures. As you examined the battle scenes, one tapestry billowed and a dark, slim man emerged.

"I am Saheem, the Sultan's Chancellor. I apologize, but I do not recall having any appointments today. Who might you be?"

"Your new Captain of the Guard."

"Excuse me?"

"Your new Captain of the Guard. If you have one, he's lousy. If you don't, you need one. There's plenty of wealth lying all over the place here, and any halfway competent thief could make off with a substantial portion of it

.

Not to mention what more violent people could do. You're too trusting. Look how you just walked in to see me. You need some organization. I'll give it to you."

Saheem strolled around the room, digesting your information. Nodding to himself, he sank to the cushions, gesturing you to join him. "I see your point. And it bears consideration. Now forgive me, but I must ask. How does a newcomer to Mangaia ignore our bazaars and come to business so quickly?"

"I'm a traveler. I heard Mangaia was expensive before I came. I wanted to be able to enjoy it for a while, so I figured income had better come before shopping. Security is my specialty. And when I saw what you had - or didn't have - here, the answer was obvious."

The Chancellor inclined his head in acknowledgment, then clapped his hands. "I agree. I will offer you a month to prove your theories and your value. At that point, we will discuss any further length of your stay. Will you join me in some refreshments?" And he gestured to a silent figure who came to kneel before you. A young woman, nude except for a sheer white covering over her eyes, was holding a tray of beverages out to you. You selected a clear liquid that Saheem confirmed was water, ran a studying eye over the tanned and taut figure, then turned to Saheem, one eyebrow raised.

"You did not know about our pleasure slaves in Mangaia? One of our better exports, in the right markets. You will see them around, and use of them will be one of the privileges of your position. Come, I will show you the palace. But one more question. Why did you ask for me, instead of demanding audience with the Sultan?"

"It's the same in any place. The man who runs things is the man who controls the money, no matter who's nominally in charge. If you want something done, ask him. So I did."

The tour of the palace gave you information, but you felt it was only the surface, that there was more underneath that was waiting to be discovered. The initial impression was one of silence. Smooth, cool stone was predominant, and open spaces, to ease living in the hot, dry air. You saw fertile gardens through the arches, lush and green, with brilliant bursts of flowered color. The climate was unusual: comfortably dry air, but not in a desert environment, there was enough rain to allow for plenty of agriculture. No wonder Mangaia was considered paradise.

You saw several silver statues of naked women decorating niches and pedestals in the rooms you passed through, but it wasn't until you saw a man caressing one that you asked Saheem about them. More pleasure slaves, in another of their roles, more decorative than active, but well-used nevertheless. A complement to the clean-skinned girls with that peculiar white covering over their eyes that you saw performing various tasks in the palace, domestic and serving as well as pleasure. Curiosity piqued, you asked Saheem for a quick run-down in the slave system here.

They were objects, really, not beings with personality. There was a system, a cycle, controlled by herbal paints which had pharmaceutical effects. Silver induced paralysis of voluntary movement, making the women statues that only moved if another deliberately shaped their limbs another way. This was considered a rest stage for them. A slave's cyclic day went from late afternoon to late afternoon, with the change to the next stage being made before dinner. The naked stage followed silver, and the slaves were at their most aware during it. Therefore, they were "blindfolded" - their eyes covered with a sheer white slip of silk that adhered to their forehead and extended in points to their cheeks, allowing them to see sufficiently to move and work, but not to identify faces. Their primary purpose when "naked" (meaning unpainted, for they were always without clothes) was domestic work, though they were always available for pleasure. In fact, Saheem confided, he preferred using them in such a state because the reactions were more "honest." The third stage in the regular cycle was gold painted, and on these days the primary purpose of a slave was sexual pleasure. There were other variations of paint and usage, but those were "special occasion" things.

The slaves you saw were all female. Saheem acknowledged there were a very few male slaves, but their purpose was for use with the female slaves, as they were not considered as decorative in performing other tasks. The men here would prefer to see a group of women joined in a task that a single male could have done, all a matter of aesthetics, really.

Any slave in any stage of the cycle was free to be used by any man so entitled, so long as not already in use by another. But frequently an expressed desire for an already engaged slave would result in group usage, the better to work the slave. Slaves were to be properly disciplined, the limit being not causing actual physical damage to the slave. Certain men were allowed preferences and priorities over one or more slaves, rather than having to rely on the general slave populace. Saheem generously offered you a single choice, which you equally politely deferred until you had time to see more of them, to see one which struck you particular fancy.

You knew where Rhian had been sent.