His Lordship in Exile

Blinking, he staggered to the cell entrance. Hands caught him, their touch impersonal, simply aiding his balance and guiding him with impatient pushes. His cellmates hadn’t been happy about his presence. No one wanted to be confined with a lower-than-dirt non-citizen.

He stopped before the cell entrance, careful not to touch the two-foot scorch mark on the polyconcrete floor.

Around him, kelvin beams glowed and shimmered, their heat rising from the floor, each eight hundred and twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit, or four hundred and forty point fifty-five hundred and fifty-six degrees Celsius. Deadly enough, no matter which standard of measurement was used, creating a softly hissing barrier keeping him and the others contained.

“Is this the one?” Using his truncheon, the garda gestured at Aric.

He was a scruffy piece, wearing coveralls as did most on the planet. Not one of that species, however. No protruding spines and his skin an acceptably-normal shade of pink-leaning-toward-tan.

The woman gave Aric a once-over, taking in his beard and waist-length braid, and nodded.

She was tall enough to have some Andvarian blood herself, being almost Aric’s height, though there again, no spines were visible. Her complexion, while fairly dark, looked to be merely from sun-exposure. She was also wearing coveralls but on her, they were attractive in a heavily-built, amazonian way.

Not my type.

He liked his women small and delicate-looking, hiding their strength. The thought came before he remembered he wasn’t supposed to be interested in females now, deceptively strong or otherwise.

Didn’t matter. He’d never seen her before. Probably would never see her again.

“Whatever it is, I didn’t do it,” Aric told the garda. “I’ve an airtight alibi. I’ve only been on-planet three days and I’ve spent two and a half of those in here.” He nodded to the interior of the cell and the gang of bodies hovering behind him, then stepped back in case the guard decided to cut the beams and use the truncheon instead of answering his backtalk.

Behind him, the others moved away, avoiding contact.

“She isn’t accusing you,” the garda said, with the unspoken added insult…fool. “She’s paying your fine.”

“In that case…” Aric hooked his arm through the pack immediately tossed at him by a silent hand. Damn, they were eager to be rid of him. He slung it onto his shoulder.  “…lower the beams and let me out of here.”

The garda scowled. As if he didn’t this particular exile’s behavior. His fingers tightened on the truncheon.
Aric decided he’d better watch his back when he walked out of the cell.

“Not so fast, handsome,” the woman said. “I pay your fine, you owe me. You have to work it off. You belong to me for the next eight months.”

“I don’t think so.” Aric removed the pack, dropping it to the cell floor.

Behind him there were audible intakes of breath, some in anticipation of further confinement with an undesirable, others…in envy at his outspokenness?

Mentally, Aric winced. He’d done it again. When would he learn? He wondered if the garda wouldn’t wait for him to leave the cell but would cut the kelvins and use his truncheon on his smart-mouthed prisoner then and there.

“Oh, Jilly,” some wag behind him muttered just loud enough to be heard. “If he won’t go, I’m willing.”

“Shut up,” Jil said. “A week of you was enough.”

The gang responded to that with an awed, “Oooh,” and hoots of laughter.

“You’re going with me,” she told Aric. To the guard, she said, “Kill the beams.”

Immediately, Aric said, “Don’t kill the beams.”

He didn’t move.

Speaking with an authority he definitely no longer possessed, he said, “According to the Statutes of the Empire, what you’re suggesting is slavery, or at the least, indentureship.”

He met her eyes squarely, before remembering that was another thing an exile didn’t do, and belatedly shifted his gaze to the floor.

Too late, of course.

“Oh?” Her eyebrows, slightly heavy and in keeping with the rest of her muscular physique, shot into her hairline. “Are you a lawyer as well as a brawler?”

“I’ve sat in on a few imperial sessions,” Aric admitted.

The sick feeling returned to his belly as it did every time he recalled his old life, which was too often. Oh yes, quite a few sessions, forced to attend and listen to his uncle’s pronouncements when he wished he were anywhere else.

He was certainly somewhere else now.

Taking a deep breath, he quoted: “According to Article Seventeen, Section one, paragraph one-a:  No being shall be—”

“We don’t need to hear it,” the garda interrupted. He shook the truncheon impatiently. “The empire’s laws don’t mean a thing here. We’re in the Fringes.  Jil paid your fine. You’re hers for eight months. That’s it.”

Before Aric could protest further—and something told him he shouldn’t but when did he ever listen, even to himself?—the garda flipped the switch deactivating the kelvins.  The hiss died away, the orange glow disappeared, leaving behind residual heat and an after-image on the retinas.

Aric rubbed his eyes, blinking rapidly. A couple of the men copied his action. Before the black spots could disappear from his field of vision, a pair of cuffs were clapped onto his wrists, antique metal ones with a plasticon lead.

“Here’s his passport and identification.” While Aric watched anxiously, the garda handed her his belt-purse, confiscated when he was arrested.

He didn’t have a real passport, only a transient one, with no home planet named. His uncle had to allow him that, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to leave the planet as his sentence demanded.

Aric was always afraid something would happen to his identity tag, and generally wore it on a chain around his neck  because he feared it might be lost or stolen. Without it, he was unable to travel from planet to planet or work even the most menial occupations. It also meant if he were killed, he’d be buried in alien soil. His passport carried the request his body be returned to Arcanis.

That his uncle might not allow a traitor’s ashes to be placed under a ceremonial stone in the family cemetery never crossed his mind.

The lead attached to the cuffs and the control were passed to her, also.

“Come along.” She picked up his pack, shoved the items into it, then tugged on the wire, like someone coaxing a stubborn puppy on a leash.

When Aric didn’t move, she pulled harder and he reluctantly stepped across the threshold, sensing the strength in that little tug and not wanting to be hauled off his feet and dragged away while the men remaining in the cell watched.

In spite of their previous animosity at his status, they gave him a send-off of hoots and cheers, lasting until he and Jil were out the gaol door and trudging through the ochre-colored dirt to an air cycle parked across the travel-hardened path before the little building.

“Where did you say we’re going?” he asked, as she dropped his pack into a rack behind the seat and climbed onto the vehicle.

He stopped, prepared to dodge if she decided to hit him for saying that. She wasn’t wearing any weapons and he didn’t see any attached to the cycle but one could never tell where a shock-bolt might be hidden.

“I didn’t,” she answered, settling herself in the saddle.

The cycle was a beautiful machine, he’d say that. A Maza-B₂, if he wasn’t mistaken, a modified, civilian version of the war cycles the Arcanian army used for crowd control, also utilized by various mercenaries when guarding their contraband, a dual-runner with a computerized dashboard but minus the automatic firing laser-sight and gun-turret an armed services vehicle possessed.

An expensive machine and in very good condition in spite of its current sand-coated appearance. Aric had once owned a model, now left behind with his Air Hawk, and his old life.

Whatever she does, it must pay good.

A helmet with goggles hung from the right handlebar. She slid both on, tightening the chinstrap, then pressed a pad on the handgrip.

With a rumble so quiet it was barely audible, the engine activated.

“If I have to work off eight months somewhere,” he persisted. “I think I’m entitled to know where that somewhere is.”

He dared gave her a cheeky grin, hoping since she was female, she wouldn’t interpret it as rude and take a swing at him. Before his current lack of status, any woman he’d turned it on usually succumbed.

“It might be I won’t like our destination. What if I prefer to sit this one out?”

Turning on the seat, she stared at him.

“You know, for an exile, you’re certainly impertinent.” She paused, then continued, “Save your breath. You’ll need it when you start using that mouth for something other than talking.”

Even without knowing exactly what she meant, he thought that didn’t sound good, but, as usual, he didn’t do as told. His grin widened, bordering on insolence. That alone could earn him a solid whack against a temple or across his ribs.

“Don’t count on it.”

Her answer to that was to grip the handlebars tightly, sending the cycle leaping forward. Aric was nearly jerked off his feet as the gliders retracted, kicking up sand. He had to really hoof it to keep from being dragged. Arms outstretched by the cycle’s pull, he began to run.

She aimed the cycle for a narrow track leading out of Adji, revving the speed for several minutes, during which all his attention was centered on keeping his balance and not stumbling.

It was going to be bad if he tripped. He didn’t relish being dragged across the sand. There was bare flesh between his boot tops and his tunic hem, and even more directly under it.

“Hey…slow down!” he gasped, managing to take a deep breath. “Are you going to make me run all the way to wherever we’re going?”

She didn’t answer, unless the gunning of the cycle’s reactor was a response as its speed increased.

“Look…I’m sorry…I…apol…” Aric swallowed a mouthful of sand, choked and shut up, concentrating on running as fast as he could, silently thanking his commanding officer for all those calisthenics he’d put his men through.

After what seemed a couple of miles but was probably only about three hundred feet, she slowed the cycle and brought it to a stop, the runners kicking up a small cloud of dust.

Aric skidded to a halt, raising his own minor sandstorm. He bent slightly, cuffed hands against his knees, wheezing as he tried to regain his breath, chest contracting and expanding painfully. He spat sand.

“Get on.” She twisted in the saddle, slapping the pillion. “That was to shut you up. You’d be exhausted by the time we get to camp and I don’t want that.”

“Oh?” Angry and resentful, he had enough breath to cough out a snarky retort. “Going to put me to work immediately?”

She aimed the wrist cuffs’ controls at him. “You better believe it.”

The cuffs clicked open, their leads retracting into the control, metal circlets dangling.

“Can’t wait to see you in action.” She reeled in the cuffs, dropping them into a compartment in the console.

Aric rubbed his wrists as he clambered onto the pillion. She didn’t wait for him to get settled but sent the cycle jerking forward again.

Briefly, he teetered on the pillion, arms and legs waving, then regained his balance. and cautiously put his arms around her waist, locking his hands together to keep from falling. That brought his body snug against hers. He waited for a reaction, an order for him to move back or perhaps a stinging slap to his wrists. Instead, she leaned back, pressing shoulder blades and buttocks tightly against his chest and crotch.

She wriggled slightly, sending a long-missed sensation surging through him, then gunned the cycle again and ignored him for the rest of the trip.  She hadn’t offered him a helmet, a second one wasn’t visible anywhere, but he was too busy keeping his head low and dodging airborne insects and grains of sand to worry about it.

The cycle’s speed leveled off so he was able to raise his head and get a view of the landscape without being struck in the face by flying debris.

There wasn’t much variety and certainly nothing to put in a tourist brochure…vermillion sand with no break in its flat, unwavering line. It was nearly a replica of the Great Desert of Assamede on Arcanis, no houses, trees, or animals, simply miles and miles of crushed orange silicate crystals that the Sun of Galen beat down on and reflected into his eyes. It was so bright he was forced to close them, seeing a dark blue after-image glowing on the inside of his eyelids.

He worried about that.

Would his eyes be damaged? Jil hadn’t offered him any UV goggles, either, and that surprised him. She was a good enough driver he had no worry about the cycle hitting some sand-covered obstacle and throwing him off, but he was well aware the steady, direct sunlight plus the tiny particles making up the sand and reflecting its rays were giving him a double dose of ultraviolet. While he wanted to keep his eyes open, he made himself keep them shut to protect his sight.

Whatever his job, a semi-blinded worker wasn’t going to be worth much. Maybe she did it as a way to force him into obedience. Well, he wasn’t going to argue. It was time he started learning that little-known trait, anyway.

Aric kept his eyes tightly closed.

The resulting sensation of being in the dark while moving forward at a fast speed sent his equilibrium spiraling. Unconsciously he leaned forward until his cheek touched her shoulder. When she didn’t react, he kept it there, maintaining his stability by the touch of her body, his locked hands keeping him upright while the cycle’s reactor buzzed hypnotically in his ears, lulling him into a doze…and a dream of home…

* * *

Aric kan Ingan had once been heir to the throne of Arcanis, ruling planet of the Emeraunt Galaxy. Taken from his widowed mother at the age of twelve, he was declared heir-tanist by his uncle, the margrave, and sent to the Arcanian military academy to begin his education.

Although he initially fought against everything his uncle wished, Aric gradually adjusted to being heir presumptive and, as expected, became thoroughly spoiled, proud, and willful.  When he was twenty-one, however, his well-ordered world turned upside down. His uncle opened trade with a planet in System X97B, a small world simply called Planet 3, revolving around a Class V star. It had been quarantined from commerce for nearly three thousand years because several members of the first expedition sent there, among them the margrave’s heir and his nephew, were slaughtered by its inhabitants. Planet 3 was declared off limits to anyone from the Emeraunt until Deröés III decided to learn if the people of Planet 3 had finally evolved enough to receive visitors in a peaceful manner.

They were, and were eager for contact. Deröés himself led the embassy going there.  He met dignitaries, politicians, and a young woman named Elizabeth Sheffield with whom he fell so in love, his awkward courtship nearly caused an interplanetary war, avoided only when their betrothal was announced.

Aric found himself disinherited. In revenge, he made Elizabeth’s life a hell and she returned in kind until the unexpected happened. The two enemies became lovers, beginning an affair lasting ten years and ending only when Aric was accused of treason and exiled from the planet because his uncle couldn’t bear to condemn him.  It wasn’t true; Aric had been on the point of discovering who the real traitors were when they learned of his affair with the margrave’s wife and blackmailed her into destroying the evidence against them.

In an effort to prove his innocence to his uncle and convince the margrave of his sincerity and thus forgive and pardon him, Aric took an exile’s vows.

So far, it hadn’t worked.  Aric hoped that meant only that his uncle wished him to suffer a little first.

In the meantime, the true traitors had Elizabeth in their grasp, theirs to command and influence her husband as they wished while they secretly plotted to mold the margrave’s daughter into a figurehead doing their bidding…and Aric languished as an exile, a man without citizenship or rights, under sentence of death should he ever dare return home.

* * *

The sudden cessation of noise and movement brought him awake.

Fingers gripped his wrists, wrenching his hands apart, sending them dangling and him in danger of falling as Jil slid off the cycle. It wobbled slightly before she activated the gliders on which it rested when not in motion.

Grasping the back of the driver’s seat to keep his balance, Aric opened his eyes as Jill walked around the cycle, stopping in front of it.

Sometime while he was in that semi-doze, the geography changed from desert to dunes, gracefully undulating into steep slopes of sand gradually solidifying as foothills morphing into jagged slopes and cliffs. At the base of the nearest foothill gaped several roughly semicircular holes shored with metal beams.

Outside sat wagon-like vehicles, most of which were filled with rocks of varying sizes. Several transport drones were landed nearby, rotars spinning lazily. On their sides were the letters “RKI,” written in Inglaterre, the universal language.

Mines, Aric thought. I’ve been bought as slave labor for a mining camp.

Across from the mine mouths were two long buildings connected by three breezeways.

He wondered what kind of operation it was, hoped it wasn’t one of the more dangerous ones where the workers were exposed to radiation.  Remembering how he’d been given neither helmet nor goggles for the ride, he doubted he’d be issued protective coveralls or shields if this were of that type.

Figures moved in and out of the mine mouths, uncoupling the carts and rolling them into large transport containers but they were too far away for him to see what they were wearing.

Moments later, two men rolled out a cart, emptied of its contents. It slammed into another one, attaching itself. The next filled one was rolled into the container. This time, as man and cart emerged, one slammed the door of the container shut, latching it with a metal bar. He nodded to someone sitting in the closest drone.

A soft whirring sounded. The drone’s rotar lifted it to hover above a container. From beneath, a chain and metal disk swung back and forth.  One of the men moving the carts clambered up a ladder attached to the side of the box. He caught the disk.

Stationing it on the top of the container, he leaped to the ground, waved, and the drone rose.

The chain straightened, lifting the container as the drone flew away, the box of ore swinging gently beneath it.

Gods, if the magnet malfunctions and that thing falls…

Another door was shut and locked and a second drone positioned itself, going through the same process.

Aric looked away, focusing on his immediate surroundings.

The track they’d been following disappeared directly in front of the cycle, blending into the sand at the steps of a small building as vaguely crescent as the holes in the mountain but much better constructed of smoothly-knapped stone and mortar with a corrugated metal roof.

He wondered if the stones were from the mine, and what kind of minerals they contained.

The thought followed that the long buildings were barracks for the workers, and the one the cycle was stopped before was where the mining chief lived.

…and that is the lady holding the controls to the wrist cuffs?

“Off.” She tapped the console and the compartment popped open. “You’ve admired the scenery long enough.”

He anticipated her next move by holding out his hands. She took out the cuffs, pressing the controls. The dangling circlets flung themselves from her hand, tightening around his wrists as the catches snapped shut.

“Come on.” A tug on the lead brought him off the cycle. “Get your kit.”

Obediently, he reached back, pulling the pack from the rack, then swung a leg over the pillion. He followed her across the sand to the rounded building.

“What’s mined here?”

He decided he’d better find out how much danger she was about to put his health in so he could start planning how he was going to extricate himself from it, even if it meant becoming an escapee. He might’ve been an exile for little more than a year but he’d already gotten fairly adept at sensing danger. He simply hadn’t adapted to staying out of it by keeping his mouth shut.

“Diamontium.”

Aric relaxed.

Diamontium was the hardest substance in existence, harder than diamonds and more expensive. While long-term exposure was injurious to health, it wasn’t as permanent or devastating as radiation, and eight months’ subjection wouldn’t be as terminal as other types.

She went up the stone steps and into the building. It wasn’t locked.  No need, he supposed. If the workers were all bailbirds as he was, they’d no doubt be well-guarded in the mines as well as at night.

Lights came on immediately, motion sensors at work.

In contrast to its exterior, the inside of the building was a surprise.

The entry room was obviously an office, with media center, chair and several viewscreens on which scenes from inside the mines as well as the barracks were being transmitted. On screen, men aimed drills at the walls while light sizzled and sparks brightened the air around them.

Aric was relieved to see they wore eye protectors, though not much else except some sort of abbreviated coverall.

Views of various parts of the desert camp were also displayed, as well as the darkened interior of one of the buildings, with rows of what looked like bunk beds, some obviously occupied.

Jil went through the room and down a short corridor. The lead from the cuffs forced Aric to follow. She went into another room.

There, again, the lighting immediately came on.

The second room was a bedchamber, sparsely furnished with a double bed and a free-standing wardrobe, very obviously expensive pieces. Both were made of actual wood, if Aric wasn’t mistaken, and he was certain he wasn’t, since it looked similar in texture to the furniture in the palace at Aljansur. His uncle wouldn’t have anything but the best for the royal family, and that meant genuine wood in all the apartments.

Opposite the bed was an arched fireplace set into the wall, lined with ceramic radiants and coils. Aric wondered if it got so cold at night heat was needed. Surprisingly, the gaol had been climate-controlled.

Two comfortable chairs were set before it.  An open doorway next to the fireplace went into another room.

Jil deactivated the cuffs, dropping them carelessly into a chair.

“Shower’s through there.” She gestured to the doorway, adding, “Two days in confinement has given you a definite gaol-stink. Get rid of it.”

Complementary, aren’t we?

That was mild compared to some of the insults he’d received since becoming an exile, so Aric didn’t say what he was thinking. Anyway, he agreed. To someone who previously bathed every day, he deplored his unwashed condition.

“Shall I depilate, too?”

“Don’t bother. I like a man with body hair.”

Remove his body hair? Who did she think he was? A Terran? They were the only species he knew that rid themselves of all hair below the eyebrows.

“I meant the beard.” He managed to keep his voice soft.

“You can get rid of that, and use as much water as you need,” she continued. “We’re situated above an aquifer.”

Wondering if it would be the last shower he’d get until he worked off his debt  made him ask, “Do the miners shower?”

“Of course, they do.” She looked insulted, face tinting with an angry flush.

He hadn’t expected such an indignant reaction.

“They also get three meals a day and medical care, too. Don’t think because I use gaol labor I mistreat my workers.”

I…my…she was definitely possessive.

“Now get in there.”

Feeling a little more reassured, Aric walked through the doorway.

Motion detectors here, too. Lights came on as soon as he stepped inside, revealing a room tiled from floor to ceiling and a circular shower stall with various nozzles in its curves.  A small vanity with lighted mirror was set into the wall next to the shower. Beyond it was another open doorway. A peek inside revealed it was the necessary room, with toilet and washbasin.

Aric dropped his kit. The bathing room had no door and he hoped that didn’t mean his new boss was going to be a spectator while he showered. Exiles couldn’t expect privacy, so there was nothing he could do if she decided to make certain he didn’t try to find some way out of the room. He could hear movement from the bedroom and hoped that meant she was otherwise occupied.

He got out of his tunic and boots, letting them fall atop the backpack as he stepped into the shower stall.

The door slid shut, activating the water, sending it inundating him from all sides with no warning, as if he were caught in a semi-violent rainstorm.  All that was missing was the crackle of lightning and boom of thunder to complete the illusion.

The stall filled with the fragrance of flowers. A froth of foam appeared on his arms as liquid soap spurted through two of the nozzles. He glanced at the controls embedded in the wall, switched the soap to something clean-smelling but non-floral, then regulated the temperature to a brisk hot this side of scalding with a massaging-flow sequence.

Aric leaned forward, bracing his arms against the wall in front of him, letting the water cascade down his back, pounding against his shoulders and spine. It felt good, the force of the water making the tension in his body relax. It also eased some of the soreness in his ribs where that bouncer had kicked him.

He began to rub his arms, working up a lather. Sometime during their ride, the wind snatched away the leather strip he used to tie back his hair. It was now tangled and sand-filled, and he bowed his head, massaging the soap through it.

Damn, it feels good to be clean.

That was one of the things he missed, being able to bathe whenever he wished.  For over a year now, bathing meant snatching a quick rinse at a village well, usually at night when no one was around to see a half-naked man sluice his upper body before hastily redressing, then catching water in cupped hands to splash his nethers a bit.

Whenever he had the money, he visited one of the many bathhouses plentiful in this section of the galaxy…unless there was a sign, “no exiles or Nons allowed.” Occasionally, a job might include housing and bathing facilities; generally, it didn’t. The work available to exiles was usually that most self-respecting—and that generally meant law-abiding—men refused, leaving the way open for beggars, exiles, and the rare Non, of whom Aric was now included.

In spite of what Jil said, he decided he shouldn’t linger too long under the spray. She might think he was delaying his entry into the work force.

Sliding back the door, he stepped out. The water immediately stopped. There was a whoosh as exhaust vents inside the stall sucked steam and damp air up and away, preventing it from entering the room itself.

A towel hung on a rack directly across from the stall. Aric pulled it off the holder. It was warm, little perforations in the rod sending spurts of heated air into the cloth.

Warmed bath towels…oh, gods…

For a moment, he simply held the warm, rough nap against his chest, marveling how good it felt. Once, he’d taken such a small luxury for granted. Now…? He dried quickly, relishing each press of the towel against his damp flesh.

He decided he wasn’t going to put back on the clothes he’d worn for the past three days.  There was an extra tunic in his pack. He’d wear that…clean skin, clean clothing …and hope he might get the other laundered so he could change occasionally. Mining was going to be dirty work. He thought of the scanty coverings he’d seen on the men in that mine scene.

When he looked to the spot where he’d left everything, pack and clothing were gone.

Had Jil taken them while he was reveling in that hot shower? Why? Was he to wear a uniform of some kind? Something to mark him? A coverall, with Property of RKI emblazoned across shoulders and chest?

RKI…what did that stand for?

Wrapping the towel securely around his waist—fortunately, it was a large one and encircled his middle with enough fabric to spare—Aric went back into the bedroom.

The lighting was more subdued now, dim, in fact. If commands had been called out lowering illumination, he hadn’t heard it over the water’s rush.

Jil stood by the bed, her back to him.

“Mistress Jil?” He made his words properly subservient. “My clothes seem to have disappeared—”

His voice trailed away as she turned to face him.

She’d changed, was now wearing something long, flowing…and completely transparent.

“Like it?” She mistook his stare as lecherous, took a step toward him, then spun.

The folds of fabric billowed and settled, offering a brief hide-and-seek of flesh, if slightly magnified—full breasts with dark nipples, a nipped-in waist, shadowy triangle at the thighs.

Another man would’ve thought it arousing. Aric was horrified, his mind gabbling his vows….

I embrace the vows of personal privation, including those pleasures of the body...

In the past year, he’d managed to divest himself of desire, inuring himself to ignore fleshly temptations, or so he thought.

“Very nice, mistress, but a little…uh…” He managed that disengaged air he’d  copied from his parents’ steward, as he coughed slightly, a sound that, if given in the royal palace would’ve been warning a breach of decorum had occurred. “…inappropriate, isn’t it?’

“Is it?” Her eyelashes fluttered as she met his gaze.

Some time while he was enjoying all that water and soap, she’d coated her lids and the skin around them with some type of cosmetic enhancement bringing out the color of her eyes…a dark, olive green. Her cheeks and lips were painted, also, in a vibrant coral. Out of the coveralls and into that shift, with make-up applied, she looked much more attractive.

That was the moment Aric felt a sudden zing of apprehension, and asked himself why he’d been so stupid, why he hadn’t realized it earlier. This would’ve been the time to slap his forehead in disgust if he hadn’t feared she’d take offense at such a violent gesture.

“I’m not certain,” he answered carefully, feeling as if he were toeing his way across an obscured path where a misstep might send him tumbling painfully into something worse.  He decided to be cautious and servile in his question. “Excuse this lowly exile’s ignorance, please. What exactly is to be my position here? What you’ve said so far hasn’t been exactly clear. Please clarify it for me so I won’t misinterpret anything.”

“You like it laid out in black and white?” She looked amused but not angry. “Don’t know if that’s a good trait or a bad one.”

She turned away, walking over to the fireplace.

The radiants glowed dimly, not giving off heat but merely enough light to silhouette her body through the transparent cloth.

“If I could have my clothes…” He felt the need to say something, inane as it was.

“You don’t need them. Not for the work you’ll be doing.”

“You mean, the miners work naked?”

Stop play naïve, Aric. You know very well that’s not what she meant. He wanted her to say it aloud. Had to hear it.

“Of course not. We may be in the middle of the desert but we’re not barbarians.” She was as indignant as before.

“Am I not going to be working in the mines?” He’d say it if she wouldn’t.

“You’ll have to go there occasionally to make it official you’re working off your fine, but it’ll only be for something easy, like carrying water to the others.  You’re going to spend most of your time paying off your debt right here.”

She gestured to the bed.

Oh damn, that’s plain enough.

“I can’t.” The words were out before her hand dropped.

“You mean, you won’t?” she corrected immediately, as if she expected his reply. She walked back to where he stood, stopping directly before him. “Am I going to have a problem?”

He was abruptly aware how tall she was, almost his height. In a struggle, with those muscles, she might overcome him.

“Mistress…I’m an exile.” He made his tone soft and not confrontational, even added a nuance of a whine making the remains of his former self scornful as he avoided her gaze, his own studying the floor.

Surely she’d seen the marks. They were obvious and not hidden by his hair.  She hadn’t looked at his identity disk but the guard would’ve told her. In case somehow she didn’t know, he pointed to the three concentric rings drawn on his forehead in indelible black ink.

“I’ve taken vows.”

“Vows are made to be broken.” Her reply was clipped. “If you have to, there’s a resident priest of Ildred in Adji. He’ll give you penance and forgiveness, and I…” She smiled. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

She inserted her fingers into the waistband of the tucked-in towel, grasping a handful of fabric.

“Let’s see what I got for my money.”

She pulled him toward her. Once again, Aric was reminded how strong she was. He had to move or be jerked off his feet.

The towel loosened and slid away. He caught at it, pressing it against his crotch. She tugged it out of his hand, flinging it out of reach.

Aric’s hands dropped to his sides, clenched into fists.

Keep quiet. Don’t protest.

“Well, now…” She stared, gaze focused below his waist. “That’s promising. Very promising indeed. Does it work as good as it looks?”

He bit his lip and didn’t answer, keeping his gaze on the floor just past her ankle.

She slid a hand under his balls, cupping gently. Her fingers began an exploration of the soft flesh covering his cock.

“Don’t.” He said that one word, very quietly, at the same time taking a step backward.

“Stand still.” She didn’t let go.

He had to obey or risk having his tarse damaged in a ridiculous tug-of-war.

“I paid for your body for the next eight months.” She spoke calmly, fully aware there’d be no back-talk. “You’re mine to do with as I please, so you’d better behave.”

To emphasize her words, her grip tightened. Aric drew in a deep breath and

didn’t move.

“How fast can you get it up?”

The demanding fingers began to stroke along his shaft, slowly at first, then gradually increasing in speed and pressure, gently sliding the foreskin back and forth while the other hand began a persistent squeeze of his testicles.

This is my punishment. I’ve been outspoken and rude, near aggressive. I forgot the restriction of my vows. Exiles should be meek and submissive. Now the gods are punishing me for my lapse.

Aric closed his eyes. Nothing to do but suffer through it.

There was a momentary flash of memory…of him cornering a palace maidservant who’d given in but perhaps wasn’t really as welcoming as she appeared. How many times had he used his position as heir to seduce? Was that any different from what was happening to him now?

Unconsciously, his hands came up, clasping together. He rested them against his chest, muttering the exile’s vow under his breath.

“Though I be persecuted and ridiculed, I will not object, for I am an exile and deserve whatever I receive at the hands of my fellow men for the crimes I have committed…”

Over and over like a litany, hoping his repeated whispers would drown out the sensations to his body as it responded to those unwanted caresses.

The prayer wasn’t working. He could feel his body tensing, cock tightening, balls swelling.  He hadn’t had any sexual relief in over a year. Before then, he was an active visitor to the Pleasure Dome, with a mistress there, while outside its walls, he had his pick of any other woman, willing or otherwise, and then…there was Elizabeth.

His body was eager for relief. Whether his mind wanted it or not, it was going to happen.

When it does, it won’t be pretty. He envisioned that transparent swathe of cloth spattered with sixteen months of suppressed cum.

“Though I be persecuted and ridiculed…”

The whisper became louder, desperate in its repetition. He who’d once scoffed at religion, had committed himself in true sincerity. The exile’s vow was one oath not made to be broken, not without dire consequences.

Aric’s eyes began to sting. Gods, in a moment, he’d be sobbing. I don’t want this. No.

If he hadn’t been so earnest, he might’ve laughed.

“Are you praying?” The moving hands stopped. The tension momentarily abated. “Why?”

Aric opened his eyes. His hands were tightly clenched now, not in prayer but bracing himself.

“I won’t break my vows.” He made his voice soft, not pleading, not yet, but not dogmatic, either, simply making a statement. “Not voluntarily. You’ll have to rape me.”

“You’re serious.” Her expression said she couldn’t believe it.

He wondered if she’d had other exiles here and they’d gladly given in. He didn’t answer, simply tightened his hands around each other.

“Please, mistress.” That was as close as he’d come to begging. The two words sounded pitiable to his own ears. He wondered how she heard them.

“Well…hell!” She released him.

His erection lasted a full five seconds longer before it wilted and cock and balls dropped, nestling against his thighs again.

His sigh was barely audible; hers was loud, and angry.

“All right, then.” She stooped, straightened, and flung his tunic and boots at him. They struck his chest. He caught them before they fell. “Get dressed. You’re going into the barracks. Now!”

Stamping to the other side of the bed, she pulled the shift over her head in one swift movement and tossed it onto one of the chairs. Something else lay on the chair and she reached for it.

Another man might’ve watched her dress. Mentally reeling from the shame soaking into his body, Aric simply stood unseeing, trying to recover from the sense of violation lingering from her unwanted touch, those knowing fingers…

It came to him like the sudden ignition of a spotlight…this was how those unwilling maidservants felt as they silently accepted his caresses, knowing they didn’t dare refuse because he was the heir, and they were lower caste, knowing if any dared protest, it would be ignored.  Gods, how could he have been so unfeeling?

Forgive me, mentally he begged for those long-past acts. I’m paying, now.

“Don’t stand there.” Jil’s grumbles broke into his thoughts. “Get dressed.”

Aric looked away, tending to his own clothing.

“I’ll have to make another trip into Adji tomorrow. That’s going to cost me cycle fuel.” Her angry accusation came from the shadows beyond the bed’s hangings. “I’m adding two more days to your sentence to pay for it.”

“Kriz seemed eager to come back here,” Aric dared say, thinking of the prisoner who’d spoken to her. “You two seemed to…know…each other.”

“He’ll do.” Surprisingly, she accepted that indirect hint. “I won’t have to look around…”

She came around the bed, fastening her belt.

“Come on.” She picked up his kit. It was sitting by the door.

He held out his hands, wrists touching.

She stared at them but didn’t move.

“Aren’t you going to cuff me?”

“Why? We’re a hundred miles from the nearest settlement. You aren’t going anywhere except thirty yards across the compound.” She pulled open the door and stepped back. Now, it was as if she didn’t want to touch him. “To the right and through the front door.”

By now, it was evening. The planet’s three moons were full, giving everything a silver-coated sheen. They illuminated the area enough that outside lights were unnecessary.

Near the mine entrances, however, lights glittered as men and carts still moved in and out. Drones continued leaving while others arrived.

Someone stood on the porch next to the barracks door

Only one guard on night duty?

Aric couldn’t believe security was so lax. Were the prisoners—for he didn’t doubt all the men here had been bailed out of the Adjian gaol or those in other settlements—afraid to attempt escape or did they simply accept it was easier to work off their debts and not brave a hundred-mile trek across that red sand?

“Saw you drive up.” The man waited until they were a few feet from him before he spoke. He had something in his hand, a small white tube whose end glowed redly.  A wisp of smoke floated above his head.

A cigarette blunt? Aric’s brows rose though he didn’t speak. What kind of place is this where they run on slave labor and the employees openly smoke?

He remembered the first time he’d seen someone smoking a cigarette...

His cousin Arle, sitting on the wall outside the academy dorm. Arle had offered it to Aric and he’d shied away as if merely looking at the proscribe might addict him. He’d seen and learned a great deal about controlled substances since then.

He wondered what the man’s actual title was. Foreman? Line manager? Or…perhaps that humorous Milky term…straw boss?

“Why are you out here? Thought you’d be enjoyed the fruits of his labors.” The man came down the steps, exhaling a stream of reddish smoke. “Something wrong with him?”

“How much of that have you smoked, Silby?” Jil ignored his questions.

“Only a couple of puffs.” He put the tube to his mouth, sucked loudly, then breathed out a second wreath of vapor. “You know I never overdo it.”

“And you know you shouldn’t be smoking at all. Let me see your eyes.”

She leaned forward. Silby gave her an exaggerated, wide-eyed stare. As far as Aric could tell, the only thing noticeable about his eyes was that they were a near-transparent ice-blue. She held his gaze a moment, then moved back with a grunt.

“You’re all right, but be careful. How would it look if we had a surprise inspection and the company CEO found out…one of my men getting toxed on the number one controlled substance on that list the Terran Surgeon General issued?  I may look the other way for some of them but tobacco’s a big no-no.” She held out a hand, snapping her fingers. “Give.”

Grimacing in irritation, he licked his thumb and forefinger, and with dramatically precise movements, pinched off the burning tip. Dropping it, he ground it into the sand with the toe of his boot, leaving a scorched smear dark in the moons’ light. Then he bent and scooped up the stub, placing it on her palm.

She dropped it into a breast pocket, then held out her hand again.

“Pack.”

Without a word, he dug into his own breast pocket and produced a small plasticon box, handing it over silently.

“You can have it back after your shift.” The box followed the stub into the pocket.

“Now that the unpleasantness is out of the way…who’s this?” He changed the subject, nodding at Aric, “and why are you bringing him here?”

“Exile.” She gave Aric a look, daring him to say anything.

“Oh.” He nodded and caught the truncheon hanging from his belt.

As he raised it, Aric took a step backward.

“Come now…” Jil coaxed, in the sarcastically soothing tone one would use with a frightened pet. “Don’t be afraid. The big bad foreman isn’t going to hurt you. Show him, Silby.”

The foreman raised the truncheon. Aric managed not to flinch as a bright light beamed directly onto his face.

“Oh,” Silby said again, seeing the marks on Aric’s forehead. He didn’t say anything else because Jil spoke up, voice over-loud as if drowning out whatever he was thinking.

“I got all the way to Adji before I remembered two men from Jiorn’s team were released this week. I’ll be heading back tomorrow to pick up the other one.” She paused, then added unnecessarily, “Wasn’t enough room on my bike to haul both. Making them walk would’ve taken too long.”

He didn’t answer. Whether he believed what she was saying or not, he accepted it. Outwardly.

“Get him inside. Put him on Jiorn’s team.” She handed him Aric’s kit. “Here’s his personals. Tag everything and lock them in the safe.”

She turned away, aiming herself for the office.

“If you need any help getting to sleep, I’m available,” the guard called.  He set down the kit. “These birds aren’t going anywhere. We could finish that joint together.”

She didn’t answer, just waved a hand behind her, an obvious but polite refusal, and kept walking.

The guard shrugged.

“Don’t know why I keep trying,” he muttered and gave Aric his full attention, again shining the light on him. “All right. Down to business. Don’t give me any trouble, Exile, and I’ll ignore you. Where’s your passport?”

“In my kit.”

Aric watched anxiously as Silby rummaged inside the bag.

The guard found the disk, waved his hand over it, then studied the information appearing on the com-unit on his own wrist.

“Kan Ingan…Aric…hmmm…” He looked up at Aric with an expression of curiosity mingled with surprise. “Well…you’ve certainly come down in the world, haven’t you?”

Aric didn’t answer, averting his gaze. What was there to say, anyway?

“Not often we get someone of your caste working a diamontium mine.” He paused as if thinking. “We occasionally get news from the capitol ’way out here, so I heard about that little upset you were involved in, Your Highness.”

“Please, Master Silby,” Aric struggled for the proper servile tone. He hated having to beg but wasn’t that the usual mode of speaking for an exile? Servile… entreating…? “If you could…is there any way…Would you keep my former status quiet?”

As soon as he said that, he wondered if doing so was wise. It might have the opposite effect and send the guard bleating out that the former heir to the Arcanian throne was now an exile who’d be working among them for the next eight months.

“Don’t worry,” Silby assured him. “Identity will be the least of your worries here. Not that I’m doing you a favor, but the last thing we need is someone stirring up trouble because they’ve a grudge against the margrave and taking it out on you.”

He pulled a tattoo pen from his pocket, extruded the point and caught Aric’s wrist, stabbing the needle-like tip into the skin. A second click retracted the point, leaving behind the tiny Personal Information Chip that had been inside it.

After an eight hundred year ban, “chipping” or injecting a small electronic tracking device under the skin had again been reinstated by most of the civilized planets.  It had gained favor as a way to prevent children from being abducted and spread from there to a way to find escapees, locate exiles, and other uses.

Most who were adults when the law was passed, didn’t have the procedure done. Aric escaped being chipped because he was legally an adult at the time and refused the procedure, in spite of his uncle declaring he owed it to the empire to have it done because he was the Crown Prince. It was one of the few times he’d successfully circumvented his uncle’s orders.

Silby consulted his Personal Computer Unit, pressing a pad. It activated the chip, beeping rhythmically.

“While you’re here, you’re simply Worker RKI-175.” He returned the pen to his pocket. “The chip’ll be removed before you leave.” He pulled open the door. “Inside.”