The Pleasure Palace. Evangeline Anderson

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      “I’m afraid you are laboring under a misapprehension, Officer Tyson.” Minister Waynos interrupted Ty’s lascivious thoughts. He cleared his throat and Ty looked up, dragging Ty’s eyes reluctantly from the silent battle of wills he had been engaged in with Shaina.

      “What do you mean? I thought you said one of us would be posing as a slave and one of us would be posing as the owner?” He looked at the Chief for clarification. “You said that,” he pointed out.

      “Yes, but I didn’t say who was going as which.” Chief Hamilton said. “You see, the slave quarters at the Executor’s Pleasure Palace where you’ll be staying are sex segregated. Since the Chancellor’s son is male, or was when he was abducted”—he cast an apologetic glance at Minister Waynos, who looked troubled—“a male slave will have the best chance of finding him.”

      “So you’re saying…” Tyson hoped against hope that what he was thinking was wrong. But the Chief and the Minister were both nodding. Only Shaina looked surprised.

      “Yes, Officer Tyson. You will be going undercover as the pleasure slave. Officer McCullough will be going as your Master.”

      3

      Shaina McCullough sat staring in disbelief at Chief Hamilton, trying to process what he was saying. Ty would be the slave and she would be the Master? By the almost comical look on Ty’s face, he was surprised as well. She supposed that she could have accused him of being a sexist porcine for just assuming that he would be playing the Master, but then, she had assumed it as well. From the very first day she’d met him, Brent Tyson had always had the upper hand in their relationship. He had always been the mentor, the senior partner, the seasoned veteran to her green rookie. He was always dominant, and the heat in those golden eyes had been making her nervous from the first moment they met. Despite her speech to him the night before about being equal coworkers, Shaina had known in her heart it wasn’t true. Now here was a chance to not only be equal but to be superior—to be his Master, no less. Or would that be Mistress?

      Shaina felt a grin of pure anticipation begin to spread over her face. She had never been so glad she’d volunteered for anything in her life! Meanwhile, Ty looked like he’d been eating unripe nare fruit.

      “Maybe this is more than you bargained for when you came barging in 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 СКАЧАТЬ