A Murder - A Maker

"I want to kill Tremain Voss."

The man standing a few feet in front of me stared blankly for a second, then reeled back with a harsh laugh. "You what?" he asked.

I'd gathered little confidence for my words in the first place, and even that vanished at the man's incredulity. I licked my lips nervously, shying back a step as he came closer. His right hand snaked forward quicker than I could track, fist slamming into my abdomen with enough force to send me reeling back a step. My right foot landed in a pool of something slick and I lost my balance, wheezing breathlessly as I spun and fell hard onto the metallic deck. The lifeless face of Richmond Essar, my master, filled my vision, and it was in his blood I now lay. I wore little - one of Essar's mandates while on his private shuttle - and the cooling liquid clung to my right thigh and up my side.

The heel of a booted foot hooked at my shoulder, tugging to roll me onto my back. I tried to draw in a breath but my stomach spasmed at the effort, pain radiating through my chest in dull throbs. As the invader's face swung back into view an altogether different, darker sentiment began to ache in tandem. He bent down, hand tangling in my ink-black hair to roughly pull me up into a sitting position.

"You're no fighter, girl," he said. "You didn't even flinch. You're nothing, and you've no resources to speak of. Christ, you're not even human. You're just a sub."

Not even human. His words sparked anger within me, even as traitorous elements of my mind relished his rough fingers in my hair and the condescension in his tone. He was right, after all. Genetically perfected attendants, known as sub-humans or subs, were hard to mistake. They, like many denizens who had made it into space, benefited from genetic alteration for heightened beauty. But the most marks were the pupil-less, solid white eyes that radiated a faint light and the black tattoo that wrapped around one's throat, broken into a barcode on one side.

There was more to it than that, of course. Voss' attendants were the culmination of a century's research - resulting from wild leaps and bounds that came in the freedom found for enterprising businesses in space, away from the oversight and legislations of Earth's governments, which found it far more difficult to fund exploration within the galaxy when compared to the less scrupulous and burdened interests of private, multinational corporations. Many forays into genetics and biotechnology had blurred the line of humanity, but Voss' had sought to step outside of it altogether. Attendants were made to serve, grace and competence embedded into their natures, bolstered by supernaturals levels of empathy that took the desires of those nearby and ingrained them within the attendants themselves. Even with the production of only a few different generations, and a number of unforeseen complications surrounding their commercialization, the line of bred servants were a success and had become a sign of exorbitant wealth.

His hand tightened to force my head back at a sharp angle and a soft gasp escaped my lips. He hesitated at that, though only for a fraction, then the muscles in his arm bunched and he levered me up from the deck by his grip close to my skull. Pain exploded along my scalp as he pulled me just off the deck, still too low for my feet to take any of my weight, and tears sprung to eyes.

"Now," he growled quietly. "Why shouldn't I kill you with the others?"

My skin pebbled. It was the same question I'd just answered before, though with minimal effort he'd already crushed the nascent independence that had begun to rise with Essar's death, sending it back into whatever hiding place in which it had managed to survive my former master's treatment. I swallowed, unable to look away from his face, and whispered,

"Because I'm the most valuable thing on this ship, sir."

A wry smile twisted the pirate's face, though it never reached his eyes. I felt a knuckle barely trace over my cheek before he straightened, releasing his hold to send me collapsing back to the ground. He stepped from the cabin into the hallway beyond, addressing the trio of comrades lounging within it. As he departed, moving toward the distant sounds of others rifling the ship for anything worth stealing, he instructed,

"See if she's got any clothes around here and get her over onto our boat. We've got fifteen minutes before blasting this hulk."

He disappeared from sight and the trio straightened up, studying me implacably. The desire within me fading to make way for unease, I pushed up into a sitting position and twisted my arms around my knees, eyes flicking over each of them. Then their leader's irritated voice rang out again, voice raised to carry back to us from around a corner:

"And don't fuck her yet!"

I did have clothing. Upon their prompting I led them through the narrow corridors of the private shuttle, the dull realization of my circumstances settling in. Nearly every soul I knew, every face I had seen with any more recognition than a stranger's in the past three years, had died. I was glad Essar had died. He had been cruel, in how he treated others and more in how he treated me, as I would always recover more quickly and without blemish. I had had devoted loyalty for the man while he breathed, but he had been a pig. An exceptionally wealthy pig, it was true - his family owned one of only four orbital construction stations that circled Earth, assuring them exceptional wealth in the jointly-held, price-gouged monopoly. I distantly wondered if my new owners had been hired to eliminate him on behalf of a rival, but the thought was fleeting. Nor had they merely killed him. A commercial envoy from some corporation had been aboard as well, and Essar had sought to impress him on the journey, offering the entire complement of my services, along with the other extravagances he possessed. A dozen servants, a dozen crew members, and a handful of personal retainers. The only one I could dredge up any sympathy for was the ship's doctor, an older man with a droll sense of humor that soothed me on the rare occasions he was summoned to ensure I healed properly. The others hadn't liked me much.

I slipped into a modest robe - the only possession from before my entrance into Essar's possession - and gathered the rest of my things in my arms: a few sets of clothes, cosmetics, slippers, boots. I had not been given much by Essar, and anything opulent had little chance of surviving his attention for more than a few hours after I was granted it. The trio conversed a few times as I moved, and when I had finished they beckoned me forward and led the way from the shuttle.

Richmond Essar's private shuttle was gorgeous. Sweeping, graceful curves made up the avian shape, its interiors designed from rich materials to display a tasteful expression of wealth without becoming ostentatious. It was a unique vessel, commissioned as a one-time design from a shipyard of some renown, making use of many parts and alloys from his family's own construction facilities. The ship my escorts led me aboard was grotesque by comparison. It was larger, and its very existence spoke to the group's successes, but it was sprawling, bulky, and dirty.

For all that, it had its own charm. The ship was considerably larger than I was used to, and its configuration for a smaller crew amplified the feeling of greater space. I didn't have the chance to see its structure, but it seemed built upon a vertical design that permitted a winding staircase along some twelve levels, a refreshing breeze drifting down the vertical shaft. The bottom few floors were combined into a vast cargo bay, the next few made up by levels of crew quarters and then the bridge, and the rest were designed for various habitability purposes, and for servicing the ship's engines. I was directed to an empty cabin on the second crew level and promptly abandoned, the trio disappearing off to help their fellows with the preparations. There was little reason to guard me closely, after all.

I sat on my new bed, taking in slow breaths and processing the surroundings. The room was spartan but I considered it a step up from my previous one. A desk could be drawn out of the wall opposite my bed, a defunct video screen embedded in the wall above it. A sanitation booth occupied one corner. I quickly stripped off my clothing before stepping over and into it, face squeezing shut against the ungentle blast of cleaning agents, scant rinsing water, and drying air that erased the last marks of my former master. Skin stinging and a little red, I gingerly stepped back outside of the booth and slipped into a close-fitting jumpsuit.

A tremble worked through the vessel's frame as it disengaged from the shuttle it had caught. Pitching the rest of my clothing on the bed, I quickly made it back to the central staircase and began to climb. The ship's uppermost floor was an observation deck. I panted lightly upon reaching it, head craning back to take in the expansive, thick windows that provided a view of the stars beyond. After a few seconds I realized the deck was not unoccupied.

A man stood toward the middle of the deck, his head canted back to allow a pensive regard of the star-speckled darkness beyond. After catching my breath I stepped forward, quietly making my way to his side just in time to see the derelict shuttle come into view, engines burning gently to propel it off on a course perpendicular to our own. That puzzled me, though he seemed unphased.

"Won't someone find it and track this vessel down from the logs," I asked, "to exact revenge?"

He glanced at me again, teeth flashing. When he looked back without replying I thought the question would go unanswered, but at length he answered.

"There's no log of us ever boarding that shuttle, not now. Cleaned it up before we took off, see. We're not amateurs. Nothing to link us to her but suspicion, and that -- Well. We're no strangers to suspicion, either." He pointed. "See that cluster over that way, where it seems to be headed? In fifty hour's time it'll reach the asteroid field and a few more after that it'll be nothing but bits of scrap."

He had a pleasant voice and I found some of my tensions easing away as I listened. I turned from studying the stars to studying him and asked, "And me?"

He shrugged. "Who can say? We've never had a sub-human before. Best settle in, girl. Whatever plans lay in store for you, they'll be a long time in coming. This circuit we're doing, you won't be setting foot on a station or planet for nearly a year. But don't worry, no. I'm thinking you'll find yourself made useful, here."

The sardonic gleam in his eyes made me swallow.

***

The next few days passed quietly. Nearly every member of the crew struck me with a predatory undercurrent in their actions and words and the attention frayed at my patience. I'd become inured to disdain and envy of my former companions, but being quarry trapped amidst hunters that refused to strike was entirely different.

So I sought to busy myself, and realized I had misjudged the ship. Essar's shuttle had been made of dark metals, black or gray, that were polished to a reflective sheen. By comparison, this vessel had seemed dirty but the matte, worn-down material composing its interior was actually well cared for. Pirates were a rare breed, but these ones struck me as more peculiar still. They worked together like a fluid machine, keeping the ship running smoothly and, in an effort I was drawn to join as well, cleaning every inch of it on a weekly basis. Stranger yet, as far as I could tell none of them made any use of names.

At times I wondered about the captain's intentions. I had taken his order to mean he desired first rights to the spoils gotten from the ship, but he had not pursued the matter since I had come aboard. Indeed, when a member of the ship first came seeking the entirety of my services some two weeks after the attack it was not the captain, but a limber young woman I recalled being an engineer. Her visitation curbed some of the restlessness that plagued me despite my relative freedom on the ship, and it preceded similar visits from most of the crew over the next week. I quickly learned that my new companions were anything but private.

I took to sprinting up the central stairs for exercise during the night, and it was during one such set that I came across the captain in the first meaningful way since Essar's death. I reached the top deck gasping for breath, vision suffering from black tunnels, sweat coating my skin, shoulders slumped from exhaustion. I wheeled around with the intention of slumping forward against the handrail lining the nearest wall, only then realizing he slouched in my intended resting place. He watched me hawkishly, arms folded across his chest. I took a half-step away from him, rallying my energy to straighten up and quiet my gasping breaths. The sleeves of my jumpsuit were rolled back to my elbows and I had tugged the zipper at my front down to my sternum, allowing the high collar to fan out and permit a little more air. His scrutiny made me self-conscious. I knew that I was beautiful. After all, such was more or less my purpose in life, but that man's thorough examination made me feel inadequate - and that irritated me.

"You will come," he drawled in command, pushing upright and briskly descending the stairs. I sucked in a deeper breath, rubbed my face, and hurried to catch up. We descended to the upper level of the crew quarters and in moments I followed him into his room. It was much the same as mine, I realized, though there was a full-size mirror against one of the walls, and his desk seemed permanently set out, a host of personal effects scattered over its surface. My survey was fleeting, attention fastening on the man who turned to face me, anticipation making it an effort to keep from shifting restlessly as I looked up at him. I expected him to say something but instead his eyes scoured my frame, and my gaze flicked over to the mirror to catch a glimpse of the two of us.

My build was slender, the fact exaggerated by the proximity of his height and muscularity. My chest and hips were feminine but modest, frame rendering me more delicate than athletic or curvy. That, the aristocratic cast of my features, and the carriage groomed into me contributed to an aura of refinement and vulnerability.

His hand caught my chin and forced my gaze back up to meet his. The contact made me shiver, the dark hunger in his eyes prompting a ripple of longing within me. I waited, expecting him to say something, my patience eroding.

"You know why you are here, yes?" he asked.

I wanted to sting back at him, I realized, for all his ownership of the vessel, and of me, and the intoxicating nature of his predatory manner. My eyes lowered deferentially, smugness kept from my tone as I suggested,

"To satisfy you, master."

Suddenly he released his grip, hand twisting back to land a brutal slap that snapped my head to the side and sent a jolt of pain through my body. The ripple of longing turned to a fire, coloring my gasp so heavily that he noticed and sneered derisively. Humiliation burned in my core as the side of my face reddened, skin tingling while he reached forward to casually tug the unzipped portion of my jumpsuit a little wider. He tired of the effort, instead gripping my shoulder to send me down to my knees.

On instinct I reached forward, freeing his half-erect member and immediately guiding it into my mouth. My tongue laved the head expertly, saliva dampening it, and he stiffened. My head crept forward, taking him deeper as he engorged, lubricating more of his cock, but within a few seconds I felt his hands taking hold of my head and knew my control of the pace was lost. His left hand threaded in close to my skull, the right tangling firmly in the locks of my hair, and he waited until I looked up to match his gaze again before slowly pulling my head forward until I was forced to engulf his entire length, nose grinding in against the coarse hairs near the base of his shaft. He was of average size, but I was prone to gagging and he held me there, the head of his phallus in my throat, watching me ineffectually try to pull back against his firm grip. I squirmed, more saliva beginning to fill my mouth, and allowed me half a breath before starting to thrust into my mouth in earnest.

Oral sex can be drawn out and artful, but this was meant to be a show of dominance. I could feel the quick rise of his need as acutely as I could feel the desire burning in my core as his member pressed through my mouth and throat, tears born of reflex painting my cheeks. I squirmed, gripping his thighs for support, tongue working to stimulate him even further, and suddenly his thrusts took on a fiercer quality. He growled, hands tightening upon me, and orgasmed.

Soon he pulled back from my lips and I swallowed, reaching up to wipe excess fluid from my face before catching my breath. I was pulsing with need and my hands twisted down to grip at the fabric over my knees, shoulders drawing up and breath coming out in a hiss before I looked back up toward him. He read my expression and smirked. Reaching down to take hold of my hair once more, though more gently, he drew me onto my feet and closed his hand over my left breast, palming it through the jumpsuit. He pinned my eyes with his as he did so, the fingers in my hair keeping me from turning away, and snorted as I whimpered. His hand left my breast, finding the jumpsuit's zipper and lowering it to where it ended a few inches above my pubic mound. His hand twisted to the zipper against its track, then he tugged sharply to yank at the garment, provoking a soft gasp as the material between my legs pressed hard against my sex. He tugged the open jumpsuit off my shoulders to bare my chest, groping at me again and advancing in earnest. I stumbled back, legs catching against his bed before I collapsed upon it.

He followed me down, weight settling over me. I struggled to free my arms of the rolled sleeves binding them but the feel of his hand encompassing a breast once more distracted me. The feel of his skin on mine made me shudder and the roughened texture of his calloused thumb dragging over my nipple drew out a whine. I kept up a feeble wriggle beneath him, finally succeeding in getting my elbows free before shaking off the confining sleeves. The upper half of the jumpsuit tangled beneath me, digging into my back as he pressed down on me more heavily. The hand at my breast squeezed hard before moving on, calloused pads dragging over my rib cage and moving on to my stomach. I bit my lip, nostrils flaring for deep breaths as I stared up at him.

His hand crept under my jumpsuit and curled, middle finger brushing over the hood of my clitoris before his palm settled firmly against my sex. I tilted my head back, spine arching at the wash of pleasure and anticipation. He stopped. I thought for a second that he simply meant to drag things out, but after he persisted in stillness I lowered my head and refocused my gaze upon him, stomach lurching at the expectant look on his face.

He wants me to beg. An intense yearning to comply burned almost before the thought had even registered, but indignation blossomed on its heels and I caught my tongue. If he intended to toy with me then I would not fold so easily. Lips parting, hips rocking in an effort to draw more attention from his palm, I snaked a hand up to cradle the back of his head and pulled him down for a kiss. He didn't resist, mouth crushing down against mine, tongue pushing past my lips assertively.

If my plan had been to tempt him into rushing forward, I underestimated him; I was caught in the kiss, tongue melting under his in supplication, and didn't even notice the shift of his weight that freed his other hand to suddenly grip my wrist, ripping my arm from his head and pinning it against the bed near my cheek. I startled under him but could hardly move, the low moan in my throat turning into a whimper as he pulled back from the kiss only to catch my lower lip between his teeth and harshly bite it. I bucked fitfully, the sharp pain mellowing, and felt utterly defeated as he pulled his head back up to fix me with an implacable look once more.