The Pleasure Palace. Evangeline Anderson

here. Would you like to back out, Ty?” she asked sweetly, casting a “lactose spread wouldn’t melt in my mouth” smile his way.

      Tyson cleared his throat and shook his head. “No.” He met her look with a smoldering one of his own. “If you’re going, McCullough, then I’m going too.” There was something in those hot amber eyes that made Shaina’s smile falter just a bit, something hungry and almost animalistic—D’Lonian. Getting the upper hand over Brent Tyson wouldn’t be accomplished just by slipping a pain-inducing slave collar on his neck, she thought uneasily. There was apt to be quite a bit more to it than that…

      “Of course, the Chancellor is sparing no expense to equip and prepare you thoroughly. Your every possible need is being anticipated.” With those words, Minister Waynos broke up the silent staring contest Shaina had been about to lose. He was a funny little man, Shaina reflected, but he seemed utterly devoted to the Chancellor, that was certain.

      “What can we possibly need other than a ship, the right costumes, and enough credits to make the scenario plausible?” Ty looked at the Minister with obvious dislike.

      “Why, Officer Tyson, I am surprised by your lack of imagination. Much more is necessary, I assure you. For instance, I have a neurobiologist waiting by the She-Creature—that is the name of your ship—to inject symbiotes into the both of you so that the two of you can communicate via thought transmission and avoid any electronic or spectrographic listening devices in your quarters.”

      “Wait a minute, you mean I’m going to have Ty inside my head? And I’ll have to be inside his?” Shaina was getting a very bad feeling about this. Suddenly she wasn’t quite so glad she’d volunteered. It was Ty’s turn to look smug.

      “Not to worry, my dear,” Minister Waynos said reassuringly, obviously misunderstanding her apprehension. “The technique utilizes symbiotes, a specially bred strain of neurobacteria that allows thought transmission by establishing a neural link with your partner. It’s a very exact science but quite easy to learn. You’ll have a day before hypersleep and a day or so after to practice the technique involved in thought transmission. Plenty of time.”

      “Are the symbiotes removable after the mission?” Ty asked the obvious question, Shaina noticed gratefully. It had been on her mind as well.

      “Unfortunately, the symbiotes, once introduced into a humanoid host, are completely irretrievable. But…” The Minister held up one prim finger, stopping the protests about to burst out of both of them. “But they will degrade with time and eventually their effects will fade. In the meantime, they will keep their hosts—that’s you, Officers Tyson and McCullough—in perfect health and give you greatly increased healing abilities and the capacity to communicate via thought transmission. All with no harmful side effects whatsoever.” He smiled triumphantly, like a salesman winding up his pitch, and sat back down on the plush chair, stroking his silver goatee.

      Besides being inside her annoying ex-partner’s head, that is, Shaina mentally finished for him. Out loud she said, “I’ve only ever heard rumors of symbiote injections before. That kind of technology can’t be cheap.”

      “Right you are, my dear.” Minister Waynos looked a little grim. “In fact, this treatment that the Chancellor is giving you free of charge is only available at a few very exclusive spas and clinics around the known universe and has been strictly regulated for years. I won’t tell you exactly how much it costs but it can run into the multimillions of credits, especially for advanced packages like the one you’ll be receiving.”

      “We’re very grateful, but let’s not forget that the Chancellor is doing all this so that we can have a better chance of rescuing his son from a life of hideous servitude as a pleasure slave,” Tyson said dryly. Shaina pressed her hand to her mouth in what she hoped was a thoughtful expression, trying to smother a smile.

      “Quite so,” the Minister acknowledged gravely. “As I said before, the Chancellor has spared no expense to be sure your mission is successful. In addition to the ship, the symbiotes, a more than adequate supply of credits, and a set of impeccable false credentials for you both, the Chancellor is also sending an expert to help you train for your roles—doubtless the most important roles of your lives.”

      “An expert? Who’s an expert on the Pleasure Planet?” Tyson asked skeptically. Privately, Shaina wondered the same thing.

      “Why, an ex–pleasure slave, of course,” Minister Waynos said, as though it were the most obvious answer in the world. “His name is Faron, I believe. He’s a Glameron and he’s the Chancellor’s personal…ah…best friend. I’m sure you take my meaning.”

      Shaina did take his meaning and she could tell by the expression on his face that Ty did as well. So the Chancellor had his own private pleasure slave. Everyone knew that Glamerons were never anything else. They were the only known race of humanoids in the galaxy that actually enjoyed servitude—something to do with their genetic makeup. Somewhere she had heard the theory that an older, now extinct, race had played with the Glamerons’ DNA sequences until they were perfected as the natural slaves they had come to be.

      Owning a Glameron was almost the same as having an estate on one of Jupiter’s more exclusive moons or getting your name in the book of the four and forty-four families. No wonder the Chancellor could afford all the expensive symbiote treatments and the ship and line of credit he was giving them. Owning a Glameron meant that he must be fabulously wealthy.

      And it also meant that he had ties to the Pleasure Planet and the slave trade that he wasn’t admitting. Shaina almost wished she had the symbiotes inside her right now so that she could discuss her speculations with Ty without being overheard. But looking across the room at his darkly handsome face pulled into a thoughtful scowl, she decided that she could wait after all.

      “Well,” Minister Waynos made a self-important little sound somewhere between a cough and a sniff and stood up. “If you have no further questions, then I would ask that you both present yourselves at gate three of the private sector of the port tomorrow morning at eight sharp. I realize that doesn’t give you much time to say good-bye to friends and family, but as I think I pointed out earlier, time is of the essence. Needless to say, please keep the details of this mission completely confidential. Oh, and I almost forgot the small matter of remuneration.”

      “Remuneration?” Shaina heard herself asking. She was still trying to work out how she could say good-bye to her mother without giving away the nature of her dangerous and somewhat kinky assignment. Her mom had never wanted her to be a Peace Control Officer in the first place. If she heard Shaina was off to the Pleasure Planet to play sex-mistress to her annoying if fascinating ex-partner’s pleasure slave, she might lose it altogether.

      “Yes my dear, compensation, payment for services rendered,” Waynos explained pompously. For the first time, Shaina began to dislike him a little.

      “Yes, we know what it means.” Ty’s impatient tone said that he had been disliking the dapper little man with the silver-plated facial hair for quite some time now. “Officer McCullough is just asking you to get on with it. If we’ve only got one night to get ready we need to move. Packing alone…”

      “Oh no, you needn’t pack, not so much as a sonic toothbrush,” the Minister interrupted him. “Clothing and toiletries are completely taken care of. Don’t even bother to pack a book to read or a vid to watch. I assure you that all your spare time is going to be wholly consumed with mastering the symbiotes and the customs of Syrus Six.”

      “Remuneration?” Ty reminded him, pointedly. “You brought it up, not me,” he reminded the offended-looking Minister.

      “Certainly,” the little man agreed stiffly. “When I came to your chief”—he nodded at Chief Hamilton who, apparently feeling that his part of the negotiations was done, sat at his glass-topped desk doing paperwork—“I told him I was only interested in officers who volunteered freely, but that when the volunteers were chosen I would discuss monetary matters with them. I have here”—he whipped out a small, sharkskin briefcase that Shaina had not previously noticed and produced two sets of legal-looking documents—“a