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Benny slid from the bar weary and aching but with food in the
sack and plastic credits in his pocket. Jason made a quip about him being
henpecked. Benny only flipped him the bird, earning Benny a weary shout from
Mitch that was more by instinct than ire.
He wobbled on numb legs down the street. The back of neck started
to itch. He dodged into a hole in the wall. Benny frowned, sniffing. The hole
smelled of wet dog. One eye on the bar, he cocked an ear, listening for the
sound of wild dogs.
After a moment, he concentrated on the bar. If there were dogs
using this as a denning area, they were long gone, lost to hunters.
Funny, but there were no rats here, either.
Mike came form the bar with that skinny dude over one shoulder. A
lean man dressed in a black body suit followed. It was the redskin that smelled
like tea.
Scowling, Benny touched the back of his head. The lump was still
there.
“Crap head.”
The men scanned the streets, then moved in the direction of the
redskin’s shack. Despite the load, Donnelly moved with the grace of a cat; the
lean man was next to him and just as easy. The scrawny one on Mike’s shoulder
was drooling.
Benny glanced up at the gray skies.
“Now I got who after me, too?”
The voice was a whisper in his ears, a gentle nudge in his soul.
Beware the Emperor.
“Which one?” There had to be million creeps that claimed the
title, most with a few square miles of nothing, and kowtowing to a bigger
emperor.
Touched with amusement, the voice said, Genuine imitation son of Heaven. Couldn’t make it so he fakes it.
That narrowed it down to a couple of hundred.
House of Jade.
“Ouch.”
The voice was silent.
Chong opened the door and stood to one side. Mike came in, dropped
Creel on the bunk and watched Chong palm the inner lock.
“Tea or coffee?” Chong asked.
“Where’s Terry Jo?”
“Please, feel free to take a seat anywhere.”
There was the bed or the floor. Mike sagged to the bed and pressed
his face in his hands.
“She asked me not to say, Mike.”
Mike looked up, but Chong had his back to him. The man busied
himself with a small burner and a teapot.
“Why?”
Chong glanced over one shoulder. “Do you think your position in
VanTur’s bed makes you safer than the next man?” Chong tisked. “My
superior thinks she’s going to replace you soon. Or possibly have you . . .
neutered, shall we say? Your mistress, Cindy, no pun intended, believes all men
should be, at least to a point.”
Mike tried to breathe, but the heart in his throat crushed his
windpipe.
He swallowed hard. “ . . . Neutered?”
Chong winced. “I assure you, I’m not making it up. You know
the person. And the type.” He stared at the wall over the burner. Chunks of
brick and board were showing, the plaster crumbling. Cow manure and weeds. The
plaster was white with age. “She’s a fanatic, even if she does break the
rules by owning livestock.”
“Her horses.”
A faint smile on his face, Chong nodded. “Thoroughbreds.
Purebred, titled animals. She allowed a little crossbreeding when Benny
impregnated her–”
Mike choked, but Chong went on. “Our records state your father
is of mixed blood. Native and white. Possibly a touch of Africa. For the last
ten years he and your mother have had to pay over a thousand creds a year in
fines because they refuse to divorce. In another year, several at the most, the
UN will make the laws against interracial marriages complete. Your parents will
be sent to a reeducation camp. Possibly near Lake Hazleton.”
Eyes blazing, Mike’s head shot up.
“No–“
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
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