AFTER THAT FIRST time, I ran, away from home regularly. I gradually became more street-wise. Each time it took them a little longer to catch me. But catch me they did, until I found the timestone. I’m coming to that part later. Now let me tell you more about me. A real sob story. Got your crying towel handy?
I was the youngest of three brothers; twelve years younger than Henri, eight years younger than Robrt. I was the only one of us left. I was the last of my line. Robrt was dead and burned. Henri was off with the Legions, which was as good as dead.
How did it happen? The usual way. As a result of a game.
Henri made Robrt and me play Hide and Seek with him. Sounds innocent enough, doesn’t it? But not the way he played. Robrt and I always had to try to hide, then Henri came looking for us. When he found us, he played a different game—the Executioner Game. He would pretend to shoot us, or gas us, or electrocute us, or cut off our heads. Real fun.
The game evolved into something nasty. After finding us but before his mock executions, Henri would bind our limbs. When we were helpless, he would lower his trousers to show his erect penis. Then he would make use of our rear passages or make us take it in our mouths, or both.
One day he got a little carried away. He had tied us up and made us stand on a fallen log. (We played the game outside, on the grounds of our estate.) Then he placed nooses around our necks and threw the ropes over an overhanging branch, before making their ends secure around a tree. We had to stand on tiptoe to keep from choking. Henri proceeded to bugger us from behind. I was first, then Robrt. His thrusts were a little too vigorous with Robrt. They pushed him off his log. The noose tightened around his neck. His eyes bulged and his tongue protruded blue. But Henri was too caught up in his sexual frenzy to notice. He kept up his sodomy. His thrusts continued. By the time his tension was relieved, Robrt was dead.
The authorities came and took Henri away. They gave him a new psyche and conscripted him into the Legions.
That left only me to receive the tender ministrations of my parents.
My parents were Lord and Lady Detrs. Even now, I don’t blame them for their cruelty. They were as much the victims of the aristocracy as I. Heir to incredible wealth, recipients of both longevity and antiagathic genes, they had all the time in the world to accomplish nothing.
My parents had long since become bored.
Maybe they should have set themselves goals: power, wisdom, even possessions. But they didn’t. They escaped ennui with decadence. There was no perversion they hadn’t tried at one time or another. Procreation was only another form of depravity. How well I came to understand that. And peptide addiction was the most depraved affiiction known. But it only gets part of the blame.
Let’s take a little jump in time now. Like an image glimpsed on the surface of the timestone when I still had it.
I was riding in a police cruiser, skimming over the treetops of my parents’ estate on the outskirts of Nyssa. To the west icesea shimmered blue, pierced by the silver needle of a gravchute. A vortex of pseudograv surrounded the chute—incoming ships spiraled down in counterclockwise helices, like pinballs going down a drain. Outgoing gravships hurtled up the chute like photons streaming out a glass fiber.
I was twelve at the time. I’d been on the run for over ten weeks that time before I was caught. A silly mistake. I’d rolled a pepbead for his chargering. I hadn’t realized how quickly the credit computers would discover it had been stolen. I’d tried to use it to pay a hotel bill with room-service charges. Needless to say, I was perturbed when the charge console wouldn’t register. But the dog-hair machine wouldn’t release my finger, either. To get away I’d have to leave my pinky behind. I decided it wasn’t worth it. I’d learned another lesson the hard way.
The bunco varks quickly figured out who I was. They knew my parents were good for the bills I’d run up. They figured there was likely to be a reward for my return. In a matter of hours, I was on my way home.
The house was visible now. It perched on the edge of a sandstone cliff, like an aggregate of rhomboid quartz crystals. The cruiser swooped low and landed in front. Sonic manacles were unclasped and I was pushed out. They watched to be sure I went inside.
My father waited there. His eyes were dark and hollow, but endocaine burned within their depths. He held an alphawhip in his hand. Ions dripped to the floor and bounced around like sparks from a grinding wheel. I knew it was going to be bad when he didn’t scream at me. The whip did his screaming, crackling with ionic fire each time he swung it. I did the only thing I could, what I’d learned to do a long time ago: covering my face with my arms, I fell to the floor and rolled into a protective ball, letting the whip land on my back and legs. It felt as if liquid fire were being poured over me. Each time the lash cracked across my back, I yelled in agony. Between swings, I wailed pitifully. But Father was not to be satisfied easily. Fortunately, I lost consciousness before his rage had dissipated.
When I woke, I was lying on the floor of my room. My right ankle was shackled to a chain bolted to the floor. I winced at the stabs of pain as I sat up. My skin still glowed with alpha particles. Every muscle was sore as Pittsburgh. But I knew I’d be OK. That was the good thing about an alphalash—it didn’t leave scars. And it did no permanent damage. The chain rattled when I moved.
“I heard you were back,” someone said from behind.
Grychn sat on the edge of my bed. She tried to smile. Rather unsuccessfully. Her eyes were amber, her hair as white as ermine fur.
Grychn Willams lived on a neighboring estate. She was the same age as I. We’d played together for as long as I could remember. I’d tried to get her to run away with me once. I really needed her then. She wouldn’t go. I’d never asked again. You only got one chance with me. Sometimes not even one.
“Just for a visit,” I answered, shaking the chain.
“Oh, Marc. Why make it so hard on yourself?”
“That’s the way I am.” We’d gone over all this before. She knew how I felt.
Grychn wore a cape of spun gold and nothing else. She crossed her legs awkwardly—they were too long, as she was in the middle of her adolescent growth spurt. The skin over her breasts was blue and taut, stretched by their rapid growth. She noticed me staring and was embarrassed. I smiled and stood up. I walked over to the bed, trailing my chain, and sat beside her. She began massaging my aching back muscles, fingers soothing away the hurt. She was good; she’d done it many times before. “Are you here to stay this time?” she asked. “I guess you’ll have to now, won’t you?”
I said nothing.
“I miss you when you’re gone.” Her arms circled me, pulling my body against hers, while her fingers kneaded my chest and belly muscles. She bit my ear, then let her tongue trail down my neck. “I need you,” she whispered. Her fingers found my penis; it stiffened to their tuggings. “I want to be with you. Don’t leave me again.”
I turned my head. Her tongue slipped into my mouth. There was brightness in her eyes. She lay back, pulling me with her, opening her legs wide to receive me. My chain rattled in synchrony to my thrusts. Grychn whispered over and over: “Don’t leave me... .”
But I did leave her again. It was easy. As easy as running away the next time. The penultimate time. Chains couldn’t hold me. I waited for my chance. It came eventually, as I knew it would, when my parents made the mistake of passing out within my reach. I then seized my father’s limp hand and pressed his sonic ring against my shackle. In a second, I was free. In another minute, I was on the run again. I won’t say I didn’t think of Grychn. But there was no time to gather excess baggage. There never would be.