The Omega Cage Read Free

could grow more E. coli .
    "Out," Pig commanded over a scratchy speaker.
    The guard held a set of cheap, blue prison orthoskins and slippers crumpled in one hand. He tossed them at Maro. Pig said, "That's it, pretty boy, you're in." He turned and started to saunter away as Maro began to dress, adding casually over his shoulder, "You got gods, you'd better pray to 'em."
    Warden Stark was on his feet, staring through the window behind his desk, when Maro arrived. Neither man spoke for several moments, nor did Stark turn to face the new prisoner. Either he was brave, stupid, or there was some kind of protective gear set up in the office, Maro figured.
    "Zap fields," the warden said, still looking at the yard through his window, as though he had read Maro's mind. He turned to face the prisoner. "And the view is protected by five centimeter-thick densecris." He rapped the middle knuckle of his right forefinger against the clear material. It gave off a metallic tone, almost like a gong. "Somebody lined up on me with a jury-rigged rocket launcher, once. Didn't even crack the crystal."
    Maro said nothing, only waited.
    "The point is," Stark continued, "that I'm running things here until the Confed, in its wisdom, decides to send me elsewhere. And while I'm here, everybody answers to me. I'm a fair man. You stay out of trouble, mind your exhaust, and you stay healthy. You give me trouble, and I can turn you into puree, you copy?"
    Maro nodded. "I hear you."
    Stark nodded. "Good. I read your stats. You should have stayed in smuggling.
    We've got a city full of killers here, and some of them could swat you dead backhanded without raising a sweat. You're here forever, Maro; get used to it. I see you've escaped from a couple of the backwater lockups where you were caught. That won't happen here."
    Maro said nothing. He'd heard this speech before.
    "You have something the Confed wants," Stark continued. "Information on Black Sun. They are sending a man to… discuss it with you. That doesn't matter.
    You are mine until he gets here, and if you survive his questioning, you are mine when he leaves. Make it easy on yourself or make it hard, I don't care—it's up to you. That's all."
    Stark turned back to the window, and Maro started to leave. The door slid open, and—"
    The most beautiful woman he had ever seen stepped inside.
    She was an albino. Her hair, worn down to the middle of her back, was as white as frozen CO2; her skin was smooth and flawless, and her eyes were an impossible blue, as icy as a glacier. She was maybe a hundred and sixty centimeters tall, and might go fifty-five kilos. She wore a prison orthoskin, as he did, but it had been tailored to her form, revealing a flare of hip and shoulder and breast that almost literally took his breath away. Of a moment, Maro found his heart pounding and his mind clutched by a surge of lust unlike anything he had ever before felt.
    He had been with dozens of women, some of whom had been professionals at every aspect of sexuality to orgasm and beyond, but none of them had ever had the hard visceral effect this woman had on him now. He wanted to grab her, pull her to him and take her, then and there, and to Deep with the consequences.
    Dimly, as from a great distance, he heard Stark say behind him, "Ah, Juete."
    Shoo-et-tay . What—?
    A guard appeared in the doorway behind the incredible woman. "Let's go," he said. It took a second for Maro to realize the guard was speaking to him. As he left, he turned to stare at the woman before the door slid closed to hide her from him. He felt shaken, as though he'd been punched in the solar plexus and still couldn't quite catch his wind.
    The guard looked at him and laughed, a nasty sound. He knew something Maro didn't about this, and, more than anything, the smuggler wanted to find out what it was. But he said nothing. He would be damned if he would ask and thus put himself in debt. He didn't want to owe anybody anything.
    Not yet, anyway…
    Stark