The Lady or The Tiger 1
Prologue
Abaddon was one of the few remaining slavers´ worlds. Governed by demons, it lived up to the hell that its name promised. It was not a good place to be a human. It wasn´t always a good place to be a demon, either.
As humans moved across the galaxy to colonize, the demons soon followed.
Much to the demons dismay, the pioneer spirit of the humans who struck out to find a better life for themselves also kept them from being cowed by the frightening creatures they encountered. These humans didn´t care if a creature defied logic. If attacked, the humans defended themselves ruthlessly. They found that fire killed just about anything. So the demons congregated on one of the furthest worlds they could find, making it their own and biding their time.
For a hundred years chaos reigned. Although the demons knew that all they had to do was wait for the humans to become complacent again, they were after all, demons, and they thrived on carnage. Scores of bloody battles raged, new ones often beginning before old ones were complete. Thousands died, and then hundreds of thousands, and the planet lay in ruins.
From the ashes rose a new order, built by those who realized the futility of pointless violence. Unlikely alliances were formed as they sought to purge the mindlessly violent from their ranks. Then they began to rebuild. Clans began to separate again, and cities rose from the scarred plains. Where there once was total chaos, order reigned.
But the wisest among them realized that the order would never last unless the demons were allowed to be demons. They would soon turn their lust for rampant carnage on each other if they were not allowed an outlet for their natural aggression and need to dominate. Thus the slaver class began.
By then, humans had had generations to settle into their new worlds, and once again made easy prey. Young men and women, full of an aimless wanderlust, were easy to entice away from their homes with promises of a better life. Harvest raids were also conducted on sleeper ships, and sometimes travelers were simply abducted from out–of–the–way locations.
Once on Abaddon, they learned the harsh truth of their new existence. Some of them were trained in the arts of pleasuring their demon masters; others competed in the warrior games, or were marked as breeders and kept out of general circulation. And the unruly, the ones who wouldn´t accept their place, well, there was a place for them too...
Spike was bored Tuning out the droning of his assistant, he lounged in the back of his transport, eyes roving the streets outside and looking for something interesting. He´d been planetside for months. His erstwhile grandsire had summoned him to court, ordering him to fulfill his duty. Spike bristled at this. Technically, his sire should have been serving her time at court, but she had been deemed unsuitable, so Himself had decreed that Spike would serve in her stead. Now Spike was stuck, bowing and scraping and yes Sir´ing himself into sheer, mindless boredom.
He wanted to be off–world, basking in the light of alien moons and bathing in the blood of unsuspecting innocents. Fighting, fucking and feeding. But no, he was stuck with a bunch of pretentious elders, being lorded over by that enormous prick, Angelus.
His attention wandered back to his assistant, Gen, when he realized that she had been trying to get his attention for the last several minutes. "What was that?" he asked her.
She glared at him. "I was saying that there has been some sort of disturbance ahead, and traffic through this corridor is being re–routed down into the city."
"And?" Spike asked, wondering why she thought he cared
She sighed. "This will significantly delay your arrival at his lordship´s estate. He will not be pleased."
"And yet, I find myself still wallowing in a lack of concern."
"Master Angelus will not be pleased if his lordship is angered," she replied tersely.
Spike smirked. "Bonus."
Gen glared. She looked perky even when she was furious. Spike couldn´t tell if it was the annoying flip of her dark brown hair, or the way her brown eyes flashed. Even the bright white utility jumper she wore screamed cheer. It was nauseating.
Spiked rolled his eyes. "Dial it," he said curtly.
Gen slid the vid–screen into view and punched the numbers.
The corpulent Lord Arvis soon appeared on the screen in all his grotesque glory. His pale skin, stretched nearly to bursting over a bald head, had a blotchy reddish cast to it. At a glance, other than two diminutive yellowing horns on his forehead, he looked fully human. His small piggy eyes, however, contained no spark of compassion. They were coldly calculating the reason for Spike´s call.
"Ah, Master Spike, I´ve been awaiting your arrival. No problems, I trust?" His thick liver colored lips curled up in a parody of a smile, but his flat eyes continued to bore into Spike, even through the vid.
"Yeah, about that," Spike said dismissively. "Ran into a bit of a delay. Gonna be a bit longer."
"Really." Arvis paused, his mouth turning back down into its natural state. "That´s most unfortunate. I was under the impression that Master Angelus was in rather a hurry to acquire this package. I went to a great deal of effort to get it so promptly."
Spike hated dealing with this crap. His face grew hard as he said, "Look, Arvis, Angelus very much appreciates the effort involved."
Cold eyes narrowed even further. "I don´t think he does. I was very specific when we made our arrangements. The package is to be picked up within the hour or he forfeits; no exceptions. I have several other interested parties that realize the value of this particular prize, and are fully appreciative of its ..." he paused for a moment, as if searching for the right words, " ... time–sensitive nature."
Spike glanced quickly at Gen, who shook her head. They´d never make it within the hour. If he didn´t pick up this package, Angelus would flay the skin off his back. Twice. It cost a fortune and it was all he´d been talking about for weeks. "Look, mate," he started, "I know full well that you´re under the gun and want to rid yourself of this thing. Angelus paid a pretty price for you to get it. But if you´re willing to double–deal him, go ahead. Just consider it the last bit of business that you do with the court. And with that goes your protection."
Gen´s eyes went wide and she started to panic. "Sir, you can´t...," she started.
Spike reached over and switched her off. He didn´t need to deal with her meltdown just now.
Rage swept over Arvis´ face. "You think that you, a first–timer on the council, still smelling of the putrid earth they buried you in, can scare me with your idle threats?," He sneered. "They´ll stake you out for the sunrise before they stop doing business with me. I get what they need."
Fury washed over Spike. His voice dropped dangerously low as he said conversationally, "Normally, I´d say you were right; first–timers typically don´t have that much pull on the council. We get sent back and forth over this god–forsaken place, running errands for the elders. But me, I´m not even supposed to be here. I´ve got years before I´m truly obligated to fulfill my duty." He narrowed his eyes, his tone becoming venomous. "Me, I´m here early because I bagged 2 slayers on my own when I was off–world. They want me here because I remind them what a real vampire is." This wasn´t precisely true, but he wasn´t going to tell this fat fuck that.
Spike continued. "There´s nothing I´d like better than to be off–world, but I´m stuck here. And if the only entertainment I get is from taking down pompous, self–important bureaucrats like you, and skinning them alive...I´ll have to take it," he said, smiling cheerfully at the thought.
Arvis paled. "You wouldn´t!" he sputtered.
"Yeah, mate, I would. But more importantly, I can," Spike continued. "See, the difference between them and me is that I care fuck all about the rules.
"But I can guarantee you against the rules or not, if I dragged you in kicking and screaming, the court would feast for weeks on your fat arse, and no one would come to your aid. So, what do you say? Give me a bit longer?"
Arvis held Spike´s cold gaze with his own for a moment longer, then pursed his thick lips together. "Fine," he said tersely. "However, there is only so much time that I can keep it here. It needs constant..."
Spike cut him off. "How long?"
"No more than five hours, or it will be unsalvageable," he replied.
"Fine. I can be there within two, and have it back to Angelus in time for sundown." Spike smiled. "How ´bout we buy you a pretty poppet for your troubles, huh? We´re passing through the slave district as it is."
Arvis paused a moment, his normally flat eyes sparkling in a decidedly predatory way. "Yes, I think that would be acceptable. Something...new...to play with would be quite nice," he said maliciously, and Spike could almost see him salivating.
Spike nodded as he turned off the vid.
He debated leaving Gen off for the remainder of the trip, but she´d never let him forget it. He flicked her switch.
As Gen hummed back to life, a blandly generic feminine computer voice broadcast "MicroCosm´s SevenGens. Working for you!" while she booted up.
He knew she was fully booted when her eyes blinked open and she finished her previous speech. "...speak to Lord Arvis that way. He´s...," her voice drifted off as she computed how much time had elapsed between the beginning and end of her statement. She scowled at Spike. "Sir, I have asked you repeatedly not to do that. I am a SevenGen personal assistant, not a ...toaster oven."
"Do you even know what a toaster oven is?" he asked her, smiling as her scowl deepened.
"Lord Arvis?" she inquired.
"Dealt with. We have to stop briefly at the slave markets..." –she bristled at this– "with his lordships´ permission," Spike finished, and she calmed somewhat. "I´m picking him up a little something. No need to get your circuits in a bunch, yeah?"
One thing Spike did love about being homeworld was that it was vampire safe. The city was designed specifically with his kind in mind: lots of tall buildings with deep shadows, oversized awnings, and necro–tempered glass. They were all used in combination to block the sun´s deadly rays. He had no difficulty getting from his transport into the slave mall.
He´d left Gen in the transport. She had wanted to come, to keep him out of trouble. But what was the point of being evil if you weren´t going to get into trouble? Besides, he knew she reported everything he did back to Angelus. He´d told her he´d meet her in the loading area.
He sauntered around the main level, smirking at the fact that while everyone gave him a wide berth, they couldn´t help staring either.
He knew he looked good, with his hair just bleached moon–white and done up in spikes, a loose bone–white shirt left open to the navel and tucked into tight breeches, and deceptively soft looking black boots that could pack an unexpected wallop in a fight.
His long black coat billowed out behind him. Not his beloved duster, some modern lightweight fabric that shimmered when he moved. Damned thing had the Council´s emblem embroidered in blood–red on the left shoulder – an intertwined A and C, combined with dripping fangs. He imagined that whoever on the council had commissioned it thought it looked noble and threatening. It looked stupid. At least it was small...well, smallish. The morons could have splashed the thing across the back.
His duster had been packed away with his other off–world trinkets. Angelus had thought it too provincial, and nearly burned it when Spike protested. With Spike wearing it. So he had put it away for the joyful day when he got off this flying mudball, and accepted this inferior substitute.
He strode through the main arcade, over to one of the pricier merchants. The stock was all displayed on a rotating dais. Rows of clear tubes, each holding a single, scantily clad human displayed for sale. With their hands bound behind them, the slaves were forced to stand at an awkward attention in the narrow tubes. Judging from the serene looks on their faces and their wide smiles, they were having Bliss Gas piped into the tubes along with the air. It was like looking at life–sized dolls that had been packaged, wrapped and processed for consumption. It was creepy – even Gen looked more alive.
Spike lit up a cigarette and perused his selections. An oily looking salesdemon slithered over. "May I help you, Sir?" it asked.
Like most of the merchant class, the squat toad–like salesdemon was an Anuran demon. Its bulging eyes lingered on the cigarette and then darted to the Council emblem on Spike´s coat, and Spike knew it longed to tell him to put it out.
He smirked. "´fraid I´m going to set your pretties on fire, are you?"
"What? Oh, no sir. We use nothing flammable in our packaging. Please feel free to partake," the demon said, almost jovially, but its eyes kept darting around nervously, its tongue flicking ceaselessly over its bony lip ridges. "It´s forbidden to use Bliss Gas on any live human slave trade," the toad said.
"Uh huh," Spike replied, unimpressed. "It´s also cheap, undetectable in the blood even to vampires, odorless, and keeps the toys in line."
Spike flicked his butt at one of the tubes and it bounced off. He laughed when the salesdemon visibly flinched. "Don´t really care what you do to them, do I? Not my problem," he said. Then he pointed to a blonde female with overlarge... assets. He figured she´d be exactly the type that Arvis would like: all tits and no brains. "That one. She squeamish about fucking G´nrda demons?"
The salesdemon brightened immediately "All our merchandise has been properly trained to..."
Spike cut him off, "Don´t need a pedigree. Yes or no."
"Of course sir, yes, she´s trained for G´nrda." The toad nearly bent in half bowing in apology. Stupid git.
"Fine, I´ll take her. Strip her off and tie a pretty bow around her or something, will you? She´s a gift. I´ll pick her up in the loading dock," he said dismissively. He passed his council I–dent card over to be scanned. "Make it quick."
"Yes sir." The toad scanned the card and handed it back with a claim check as it scurried off to make arrangements.
Spike strode off through the mall toward the loading dock.
"Riley, please...don´t do this." Spike heard the delightful sound of an anguished female pleading. "Please, don´t do this," she repeated, softly.
Spike paused. It was unusual for humans to speak so freely at the slavers´ mall. Begging was common, but this quiet pleading was different. His eyes scanned the crowd, looking for the source.
He spotted them, off to his left on a public sale dais, a group of 3 humans, two males and a female. One of the males wore the insignia of an overseer on his collar. Even without the insignia, Spike would have known he was the overseer. They all had a vague military bearing that carried over from their training.
The other two were dressed for sale, leashed and collared with their hands bound behind them. The overseer was binding them each to a post, readying them for sale.
The girl, her dark blonde hair pulled up into some sort of twist, was wearing a short sleeved white top that came to just below her large unbound breasts, and a long white skirt made of the same synthetic material. It seemed to both cling to her everywhere and float about her at the same time. The fabric had been rolled from her waist all the way down around her soft rounded belly, stopping at her hips. She looked....lush, her owners presenting her as a strange combination of virginal bride and breeder that typically didn´t mesh, but which suited this girl well.
The boy was just as interesting, skin bronzed to a honey color and oiled, showing off muscles that had most likely been acquired by hard physical labor rather than training. His only article of clothing was a small bit of fabric fastened around his waist, which barely reached his mid–thigh, and was of the same white material that the girl was wearing. His longish shaggy brown hair bespoke of convenience rather than style, and his face was dominated by large brown hurt–me eyes.
Spike was intrigued, and moved closer, pretending to examine some leather restraints in a stall nearby. A malicious glare sent the salesman scuttling away, giving Spike an unobstructed view of the unfolding drama.
The overseer had finished strapping the boy and the girl in, and was busying himself with the keypad on the terminal, presumably pricing the pair of them.
"Riley," the girl said softly. She had her head down and tilted away from the street, and barely moved her lips when she spoke.
The overseer, Riley, looked up from his typing and held her gaze as he said, "Tara, I..."
"Please," she murmured, "I´ll do anything, anything at all. Just don´t ..."
"You know it´s not up to me," he answered softly, his eyes still locked with hers.
"T–tell them I´ll work the tents, I really will do a–anything, please..." There was an edge of desperation in her voice.
"Tara, NO!" the boy hissed, "I won´t let you do that, not for me." He wasn´t as good at being discreet as the girl was. A few patrons in the streets looked up at his exclamation. He immediately clammed up.
Riley, the overseer, glared at the boy, his face hardening. Spike saw that the kid had the common sense to drop his gaze and bow his head.
Tara looked at the boy, then back at Riley. "I will work the tents," she whispered more forcefully. "All day, all night, whenever they want, however long they want. Just please don´t split us up."
Riley looked at her solemnly. "Tara," he sighed, "I don´t have a choice. You know where they should have sent him." He indicated the boy. "I got them to agree to sell you both instead. It was all I could do."
Tara opened her mouth to reply, and then closed it again. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath before letting it out slowly. When she opened her eyes again Spike saw that they shimmered with tears. She glanced at the boy, and at Riley, and nodded in understanding. "Do you think someone will buy us both?" she asked, voice wavering a bit. "Together?"
"I´m sure..." Riley started, and then shook his head, apparently unwilling to lie to the girl. "No, I´m sorry. I´ve been ordered to discourage that if I can."
The tears that had been welling up in the girl´s eyes silently spilled over and down her cheeks in a stream. Spike could nearly taste her despair. It was beautiful.
"God, Tara, I´m so sorry. Please don´t cry," the boy whispered.
She took a deep breath and struggled to regain her composure before murmuring back. "Not your fault, Xander, never think that. Just keep safe, ok? I love you."
"Ok, you two, enough. It´s time." Riley´s voice was more firm as he punched a few final buttons and the digital sales display was activated. The entire dais shifted forward, indicating that he was open for business.
Spike was intrigued. Loyalty among slaves wasn´t uncommon, but between a slave and an overseer, it was nearly unheard of. Relationships between the groups were painfully discouraged. He wandered over to get a better look at the pair.
Apparently, he wasn´t the only one interested in these two, either. By the time he´d gone the short distance to the dais; several demons had gathered around the pair and were examining them closely. He watched as the girl, Tara, turned gray as she felt a Corswa demon slide one of its primary tentacles up under her skirt to examine her more fully. Both its secondary tentacles were busy slithering about the rest of her body; whether it was trying to soothe or stimulate, Spike couldn´t tell. Girl stood still though, didn´t flinch.
Corswa demons were smaller than average human females and easily distinguished by their five sets of tentacles and prominent forehead crest. They were creatures that looked as if they would be much more comfortable swimming rather than standing. They trolled the markets, always on the lookout for un–neutered human females. The human womb was an ideal host environment for their eggs. Usually after one spawning, during which the hundreds of miniature squid–like creatures literally crawled out of the host´s body upon hatching, the girls went mad and had to be constantly restrained. Most only survived 2 or 3 spawns before becoming completely catatonic and needing to be put down.
The boy wasn´t faring much better. A nearly seven–foot tall waiflike demon with damp blue–gray flesh stretched painfully over its bones was clinically examining the boy. Likely a breed farmer looking for new stock to add to his stable. Occasionally the demon would make a comment to his squat companion, who in turn made a notation on a tablet.
When the demon reached underneath the boy´s sheath and began to evaluate his manly bits, the human was unable to hide the revulsion on his face.
Spike had seen enough. Angelus was always harping on him for not taking advantage of his status as ´demon lord´, but Spike had never been interested in owning slaves. Who needed a fawning sycophant, especially one that had to be fed and clothed, and had messy bodily functions? These two, however, had managed to capture his interest, and that was something quite rare lately.
Spike stepped up onto the dais, between the slaves. The overseer was making his sales pitch; outlining the skills the two possessed to the crowd and trying to generate more interest. The Corswa demon was now apparently doing more than just feeling the girl up, judging by the clenching of her jaw and the beads of sweat appearing on her brow.
In the blink of the eye, Spike reached out and roughly pinched the sensitive forehead crest of the Corswa demon with his left hand, pulling it closer to him. It howled in pain and was forced to retract its tentacle or risk losing it. Spike shoved the demon quickly off the back end of the dais. His right hand shot out, just a blur, and snatched the throat of the spindly demon before pushing it off the back end of the dais into the ally behind as well. "Move along," he snarled.
The spindly blue demon´s companion came up on Spike´s right and attempted to restrain him. Spike spun, quickly grabbing its arm and tossing it after its companion. He felt his face shift, vision sharpening as his brow ridges rose and his fangs fully extended. He slid his hands under his coat, and from the small of his back he pulled two silver railroad spikes from their hidden sheaths. He splayed his arms and took a fighting stance, holding the spikes as he would a pair of sai´s. They gleamed wickedly in the bright artificial light. "Still want to play?" he asked.
The Corswa paled, and spat. "Ischtt Vanshi!" Dirty Vampire.
Silver was corrosive to them; any contact and their flesh began to melt away. If they were lucky, they would only have to quickly sever a tentacle or two to halt the spread of damage. A touch to the head or torso was deadly. It glowered at the metal in Spike´s hand for a moment longer before slinking off, inching along on its 4 ballast tentacles. sssliss–thump, sssliss–thump.
The other two demons stalked off, grumbling about vampires being rash and violent half–breeds. They knew however that the market was full of humans for breeding. The boy was a good find, but there would be others.
Spike turned to the overseer, tucking his weapons back in their sheaths. "I´ll take them both," he said, as if nothing untoward had happened.
Riley blinked for a moment, and then regained his composure and said in a firm voice, "I´m sorry sir, this stock must be sold separately. I´ll gladly sell you either one."
Spike stepped closer the overseer. "Look, mate, sorry about the ruckus," Spike said, completely unremorseful, "But I´m on a tight schedule. You´re selling, I´m buying. I´ll take the two of ´em."
Riley paled, but held his tone firm. "I´m sorry, Sir. The stock is set for individual sale."
Spike asked coldly, "Know who I am, boy?"
Riley´s eyes darted to the Council emblem on Spikes coat. "Yes, Sir," he said crisply.
"Your owners refusing to do business with me, then?"
"No, Sir," Riley said firmly.
Spike made a show of looking Riley over from head to toe, before he tilted his head to one side and said, "You belong to the Phelon, yeah?"
Riley nodded. "Yes, Sir," he replied, and squared his shoulders, bringing himself to full attention.
Spike rolled his eyes at the show of bravado and said, "Phelon would sell their own mother for a profit. They never met a bottom line that they didn´t like. I´m the offer you can´t refuse." Spike held up his council I–dent card, and said, "Ring them up."
He tossed the card at Riley, who snagged it out of the air in an unexpectedly graceful move. The boy had great reflexes.
Spike thought he caught the briefest hint of a smile on the overseer´s lips, before he schooled his features into an unreadable mask and turned to ring up the purchase.
As Spike was walking away with his new pets in tow, his pocket vid buzzed. "On my way, Gen," he answered without looking at the screen, and then hung up.
