CHRYSALIS Read online

  Something told him he was no longer alone. He felt a pressure on his skin, a presence, as if someone were very near. He held his breath, straining to hear, but the silence was as complete as the darkness.

  “Dorothea?” he said softly, and a low, husky voice said, “I am here, my love.”

  The hairs on his arms stood straight out. He was instantly sorry he hadn’t retraced those eleven steps and found the door, for he felt something was different about her, something unwholesome.

  Something touched him, soft and wet, warm to his skin. Shuddering with fright, his brain said Medusa. Snakes. Slithering sinuously, slowly and silently, the snakes slid slimily up his arms. A wave of nausea rolled over him. His skin tightened and crawled uncontrollably, but he couldn’t move. To his horror he realized he didn’t want to move, he wanted them to writhe and explore, he wanted the snakes to love him. He stood still, eyes closed, and the horror subsided, to be replaced with a peaceful acceptance. He felt his uniform being removed, slowly and effortlessly. He stepped out of it and sighed.

  “My love, my love,” she whispered huskily, and came to him, pressing her warm body to his. He smelled her earth scent, as of must and mold and fresh turned loam. Unresisting, he felt the snakes move erotically through his hair, felt them slide liquidly over his shoulders. Slowly and lovingly the snakes enveloped him, crawling over each other, moving ceaselessly. Soft tentacle ends touched him lightly, like a baby's fingers, exploring, searching him out, thrillingly sensuous.

  He surrendered willingly, lost in the carnal pleasure of warm, wet, softly singing tentacles writhing gently on his naked skin, exploring every curve and cavity of his body. She touched him with gentle hands, pulling him to her, seeking his lips, tasting him, drawing him into her. Her love smell enveloped him. Writhing tentacles moved wetly over his body, driving the aching sensation in his loins higher and wilder. He closed his arms around her and she moved against him, her loving femaleness slick and fervid.

  Mad with lust, the writhing almost manic, the tentacles grew, whipping furiously, enveloping them, enwrapping them, covering them with crawling snakes, enclosing them from head to shoulders in a living, sensuous tent. Her mouth found him again, and she whispered, “My love, my love.”

  The growing tentacles slid lower, slithering wetly, warm on his back, caressing him, bringing waves of delicious sensation wherever they touched. Pressed close together, tightly held in a cocoon of snakes, he was one with her and one with them.

  “My love, my love,” he whispered, in an agony of desire. They were alone in the universe, inside the living tent, inside the writhing canopy of snakes. A warm, wet muskiness rose around him, filling the canopy, filling his senses, and the rising temperature turned his skin sleek with sweat. She drew him slowly downwards, her mouth softly brushing his, her lips lightly tasting his, her tongue gently touching his, until they were kneeling on the floor, bodies touching, flushed and throbbing. The tentacles wrapped themselves tightly around them, slithering over every part of them, mucus-warm and slippery. The ecstasy enveloped him, washed over him like waves crashing onto a ravenous shore, one after the other, following each other from the farthest reaches of the horizonless sea.

  He felt the urgency rise in him, powerful and frenzied. She whispered, “Yes, yes,” and the woman pleasure rolled over him, enveloped him, engulfed him in a raging paroxysm of sexual intensity, a shuddering body-wide orgasm, swelling and writhing with the motions of the snakes. Lost in pleasure, submerged in sensation, he lost all track of time, all sense of being. He was no longer alone, he was Dorothea, she and he and the snakes a single person, sharing a single set of memories, a single will, a single soul.

  “Yes,” she whispered lovingly, “we have been here before.”

  The frenzy subsided. He withdrew slowly, the waves receded, their souls released, his memories returned to him. He felt her mouth upon him, and when her tongue withdrew she left a small, hard object in his mouth. The snakes retreated slowly, still warm and slick, still sensuous, though the sensuality was now contentment, a warmth and well-being he didn’t know he was capable of feeling. He knelt on the floor, spent, undone. The snakes were gone, and so was she. He was alone, and he knew he’d never be the same. He knew also he would see her again.

  He took the object out of his mouth and it shone bluely in his hand, a deep, rich sapphire blue, as of the sky, low on the horizon, just at dusk. He put on his uniform and retraced the eleven steps, but he’d gotten turned around, and he found himself at a wall. He felt his way along until he came to an open doorway, and he looked in. In the near distance he saw a small, dim yellow glow. In the glow he saw the closely spaced bars of a birdcage. In the birdcage, hanging from an upper bar, blazed a glowing golden gem. He backed slowly out of the room, fear taking hold.

  “Cheep?” Khalid said.

  28

  He turned from the canary, still shaking. He wanted only to get out. He had two choices. He could feel his way around the walls, or he could walk straight into the darkness.

  “Which way is out, Khalid?” he asked. He heard a flutter of wings and grinned. At least he wasn’t in a cage. The sapphire glowed in his hand, but gave no relief to the overwhelming dark. Stepping gingerly, arms outstretched, he retraced his steps, thinking that was better than groping his way along the walls. For all he knew, the walls continued into the lightless void forever, leading him to other doors and other rooms, trapping him in an unknown dark.

  He had one advantage. He remembered he’d heard a distant chirp when he first entered, while he stood in the darkness with the door at his back, and he remembered it was his impression the sound had come from his left. He’d retrace the eleven missteps that took him to Khalid instead of to the door, and make a ninety-degree turn to the right.

  He counted eleven steps and stopped, straining to see, straining to hear. He was convinced she must be here, watching him, amused perhaps. “Goodbye, Dorothea,” he called jauntily.

  He made the turn and walked slowly forward, counting the paces. When he got to eleven he stopped and listened. He felt no increased pressure on his skin or his eardrums to indicate the near presence of a large object, like a wall. He held a hand out in front of him and advanced slowly, still counting, for he thought if he got to twenty-two he had better stop and reconsider. He found the wall at eighteen.

  “Goodbye, my love,” she said softly, somewhere behind him, and he said again, conversationally, “Goodbye, Dorothea.”

  “I shall expect you again tomorrow,” she said. “I will send for you.”

  “And if I choose not to come?”

  She laughed, low and throaty. “It is no longer yours to choose, if it ever was.”

  He heard her move, felt her nearness in the vastness of the dark, and when she spoke again the voice was low and firm, without laughter.

  “You will close your eyes tonight, my love,” she said, “you will close your eyes and dream of Dorothea. You will dream of love, and smothering pleasure. The hunger will come upon you, the hunger that can never be appeased. We shall renew our love, our love of long ago. We shall dream of love that was, and live for love that is, for love is more than caresses, more than embraces, more than warmth and wetness. Love is the complete knowing of another, and we shall come to know each other again, as once we did.”

  He felt her come nearer, and he had the dreadful feeling she was going to touch him, but she did not. She laughed again, softly, as if she’d read his mind, and when she spoke, she was amused.

  “Until tomorrow, my love, when we shall renew our caresses. I shall be here, and you shall be here, for only Dorothea can assuage your hunger. When I call you, you will come, for when I call you, you will want to come.”

  He felt her leave, though she made not a sound. He gathered himself and turned to face the darkness, turned to face the enchantress. A strange, offensive smell assailed him, which he hadn’t noticed before.

  “Don't count on it, toots,” he called, and found the door. Behind him, he
heard her laugh again, and in the distance he heard a canary chirping merrily.

  Back in his room he found his Marine Corps uniform on the bed, laid out, cleaned and pressed, with his underwear and socks next to it. His boots were on the floor, polished to a very regimental spit shine. He shook his head in amazement, and continued to wonder what kind of jail old Kosh was running here. He had no illusions he and his crew could leave Linngard, but he, at least, seemed to have the run of the place. Thoughts of his crew turned him inward to Marianna again, and he wondered where she was, and how she was doing. He shrugged, for at the moment he could do nothing about his crew, except ask at dinner, perhaps even make a demand. Maybe Kosh will put us in adjoining rooms. Why not? Anything seemed possible in this place.

  He retrieved the dead emerald from the dresser drawer and placed the sapphire on the chain next to it. As he turned the sapphire in his hand it seemed to change, from cobalt to azure to indigo, and all the shadings in between. He didn’t feel any surge of power, any heightened awareness, as he had when he held the emerald after being rescued. Then he’d felt the power of the emerald, had felt his Tal Avenger memories return. The sapphire glowed in his hand, but it was dead. If it had any power to bestow, he didn’t know how to use it. He would ask Dorothea tomorrow. The thought that he’d apparently so easily accepted the fact of his seeing her again shocked him. “No, goddamit,” he said aloud, “tomorrow I'm long gone, even if I have to throw Kosh through his own damn fishwall tonight!”

  He stripped off the Federation uniform and stepped into the shower. He stayed under the hot needle spray a long time, trying to wash the tentacles away, trying to wash his thoughts away. He felt dirty, and he smelled like he’d touched something rotten. When he emerged from the shower he was all right again, he felt clean and whole, ready to face the world, including Director Kosh, the ruler of most of it.

  A knock at the door revealed a serious looking man with a white dinner jacket and a pair of black pants.

  “Thanks,” Simon said. “What time is it?”

  “Mid afternoon, sir.”

  Simon thanked him again and hung the clothes in the closet. He hadn’t realized before today how dependent he was on knowing the time. Shallcross and Pearlman wore watches, as did Marianna, so he hadn’t felt the need for one till now.

  He didn’t linger once dressed, for he had worked it out in the shower. If he had the run of the place, he would use it to look for his crew. He drew a mental floor plan, as best he could recollect, and reasoned that the path from the elevator through the anterooms and down the main corridor was a straight line, with his room a left turn off the end of the corridor. Pearlman and Shallcross were led off the corridor before the end, and they too went to the left. So if he walked back to the main corridor and turned right, he should find the corridor leading to the enlisted men’s quarters.

  Setting thought to action, he walked briskly down the main corridor, passing a surprisingly large number of people, none of whom paid the slightest attention to him. At a corridor intersection he asked a woman pushing a cart full of linens where the enlisted men's quarters were and she gave him full and complete directions. The problem now was to find the room or rooms where Pearlman and Shallcross were being held, and he anticipated that that would be a bit more difficult.

  But it wasn't. He turned a corner and there they were, standing outside a room marked Enlisted Men's Lounge, Pearlman talking earnestly to a rather plain though coquettish young woman, Shallcross leaning against the wall drinking a can of beer. They broke off when they saw Simon, leaving the young woman standing alone in the middle of the corridor. She scowled and strode off, patently furious at the interruption.

  “Tough duty, guys,” Simon smiled.

  “She only got my name, rank and serial number, sir,” Pearlman grinned.

  “Marine uniforms have a hypnotic effect, sir,” Shallcross explained.

  “Stow the beer, Sergeant,” Simon said, “and follow me.”

  They followed him, without a word, back to his room. Shallcross and Pearlman sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, ramrod straight.

  “Marianna's here,” Simon said. The looks on their faces showed they hadn’t known.

  “That's too bad, sir,” Shallcross said.

  “This place is pretty loosely run,” Simon continued. “Nobody seems to be paying much attention to us, probably because they think we can't get out, seeing as how we're on the bottom of a lake.”

  “How deep, sir?”

  “Two hundred feet.”

  “They're right,” Pearlman said. “Even if we busted out somehow, we'd need aqualungs to get to the surface.”

  “There's an elevator,” Simon said. “Elevators have cables, and guide rails for the cab to run on, and guide rails go the whole length of the shaft, top to bottom. If we're lucky, there might even be a maintenance ladder built into the shaftwall.”

  “That's a long climb, sir,” Shallcross said doubtfully. “Two hundred feet up a greasy guide rail. If there's a ladder, okay, but if not, that's twenty stories worth of open air.”

  “I don’t see any other way. We can’t just ring for the elevator. I noticed on the way down that a bell rang on the platform when we left, and a bell rang in the anteroom at the bottom when we arrived.”

  “Yes sir,” Pearlman said, “I heard it. Probably connected to a guardroom as well. Probably an alarm, sir. I know I wouldn't want anybody using the elevator without my knowing it.”

  “Where's Marianna, sir?” Shallcross said. “We'll go get her, bust outta this place.”

  “I don't know. I want you to walk around, ask questions. If you find her, bring her back here. And keep your eyes open for an armory, or weapons storage. What time is it, Corporal?”

  Pearlman looked at his watch. “Fourteen thirty hours, sir, Denver time. Sixteen thirty hours for here.”

  “All right, that gives me two and a half hours. I have to leave for dinner at nineteen hundred, so if you find her after then, stay here with her until I get back.”

  “Where will you be, sir? Just in case.”

  “With Dr. and Mrs. Kosh. Possibly others.”

  They raised their eyebrows and looked briefly at each other, but made no comment other than, “Very good, sir.”

  “All right, dismissed.”

  Simon closed the door after them. He secured the chain with the emerald and sapphire around his neck, under his blouse, and entered the corridor. He had his team now, or most of it, and when he found Marianna and when they had weapons they would turn this place on its ear. He was determined to leave tonight, with his full crew, for he knew that tomorrow he would see Dorothea again, and worse, he knew that tomorrow he would want to.

  29

  Colonel Neal Hernandez, resplendent in uniform, recipient of a medal and a hearty handshake as befitted the deliverer of Tal Avenger to Linngard, strode confidently down the corridor toward Marianna’s room. Alongside him was the base chaplain, not at all certain of the legality of all this. A marriage contract required the consent of both parties, after all, but Hernandez was a full Colonel of Internal Security, and thus to be feared. Moreover, he seemed to be very high in the Director's favor.

  “Just do as you’re told, padre,” Hernandez said amiably. “The Director has given her to me as reward for Tal Avenger. Since the Director is a stickler for morality, and demands his officers be married to their women, then I must needs marry the wench.”

  “Marry, yes,” the padre said, clearly ill at ease. “Marry, by all means. But forcibly?”

  Hernandez found himself in the odd position of being given a woman but not allowed to use her. He well knew Kosh took a dim view of anyone mistreating what he insisted on regarding as the weaker sex, and he knew further that anything Kosh took a dim view of was something a rational man would studiously avoid. A married woman, on the other hand, was her husband’s to command.

  “You have all the necessities, padre?” Neal inquired. “Everything in order?”

 
“Yes sir,” the chaplain said resignedly. “A notarized marriage contract, already signed by the both of you, though I must say that in my professional opinion, signing the young lady's signature yourself seems highly irregular.” He hoped only that the Director would not look askance at the irregular proceedings, and if he did, that his part in them would be seen in a favorable light.

  “You’ve seen the statement from the Director giving the young woman to me?”

  “I have,” the chaplain said solemnly, “or I should have withdrawn from these proceedings.”

  “Sure you would have,” Neal sneered. “Do you have the rings?”

  “Yes, two gold bands, though I’m uncertain they’re the correct size.”

  “Don't worry about the size. They're symbolic.”

  They reached the door and Hernandez didn’t bother to knock. He put the key in the lock and burst open the door. Neal Hernandez had every intention of intimidating her.

  When Marianna closed the door on him earlier, she’d been sick and frightened, but several hours of rage had had their effect.

  “What the hell do you want, scumbag?” she snarled. “Get out of here. And who the hell is he?”

  “This is Chaplain Halberd, Marianna,” Hernandez said easily. “He’s going to marry us.”