Yvan Dragomilov - Of Dungeons and Towers

Eugene lay strapped to a mechanical table, clothing removed and minor wounds from his capture dressed. He was conscious, watching Adam with clear, sane eyes which refocused any reply other than contempt. Upon his chest, a folded serviette had been placed. In its middle, lay a file.

Feeling deprived of his due, Adam shook his head. Not wasting further words, he glanced about the room, so harshly illuminated as to make his eyes water. It was cleaner than he had ever seen these basement chambers; walls, floor, and ceiling scrubbed until they shone---in all likelihood sterilized, as well---the junctures of the graniplastic blocks, bulging under the load they bore, sealed to prevent contamination. Upon one spotless wall a colorful poster had been affixed, portraying the distorted image of a human figure the proportions of which were altered to convey the relative density of nerve-endings in any given portion of the body. Adam thought it grotesque but of considerable interest. Upon another nearby table, identical to that where Eugene lay, some thoughtful individual had left a portable file reader.

"Pardon me." With a cheerful nod for his brother, Adam picked up the file, crossed the room, slid it into the device. The image was of Zaytseva, seated at his desk. At his side stood Veronica. Adam kept the volume low. Once the message had finished, he turned, grinning, to confront Eugene again. "Our hosts," he declared, "are generous beyond belief. At least they are with me. They find ways to provide for my future, they give me gifts. Presently they will offer me a strategic marriage and, in due time, an Oligarchy."

Eugene stayed silent.

"As you have no doubt guessed, a traitor lurks in Genrichian ranks and always has lurked: none other than your own brother. You may be interested to learn the visit from the Sconese ambassador was a deception." He paused to allow a reply, got none, and determined to continue. "Zaytseva and I believed telling you of the Scon would draw you into launching your raid at a place and time of our choosing. If you judge that I have allowed myself to be lured from the righteous Genrichian cause, dear brother, you judge right. The promise of unlimited wealth and power has that effect on me, I will admit."

"Like whatever dark charms that bitch offers!" Eugene raised his head with effort. "Daughter that she is to Father's slayer, and your stepmother, you incestuous bag of shit! You will wind up with some nasty social disease. It is obvious you already suffer a severe case of blue...."

"Articulate at last," Adam frowned, "and right. Veronica's influence upon me was considerable, but of a different character than you might expect. Marriage to the daughter of the mean the Premier sent puts me doubly in line to inherit the title of Oligarch-Hereditary." He moved closer to his brother, put his hands together, interlaced his fingers, and rested his chin upon them. "I have always coveted your position in the birth order, resenting at the deepest level of my soul the fact that everything, everything!---"

Adam paused, drawing a number of deep breaths. "Everything would have devolved upon you, a man constitutionally incapable of enjoying pleasures of any kind. Now all that has changed. The one person remaining in the path of my ambitions is a wheelchair-bound invalid who cannot be much longer for this universe and, with all his heart, wants me to possess his lovely daughter and to inherit his position. You see why I could not resist. Who might, in my place?"

Eugene let his head fall to the table. Adam smiled. "As if this were not sufficient, Zaytseva has made me another gift, of your death, which he means to be the most elaborate demise of its sort ever conceived. Techs, lately arrived from Romanova, will join us at my command." He indicated the ceiling above the table. "Look upon yourself, Eugene, this mirror has been provided for that purpose. Zaytseva is a connoisseur and means this as an example of his subtlest art. He left a message, in your care, as it were, so that even I, the merest amateur, might appreciate what he's ordered done."

At a leisurely pace, Adam moved to the head of the table where big cylinders stood upon their ends against a wall, hung with transparent tubes, one ending in a breathing mask. "You will suffer no pain. The means by which some persons will themselves to death will be circumscribed. I believe this is a prime feature of Zaytseva's genius. You shall experience no distraction from the concept of what is being done. This is an unconventional request, the normal course being to enhance pain. Your mind and sense--eyesight, hearing---will stay functional, maybe more so than ever."

In the mirror, Adam watched his brother's eyes widen at these words. "Your body will be opened." The eyes showed more fear. Adam smiled. "Each of your vital organs will be removed, replaced by the machinery you see all around you. This, for instance, ensures that blood, suffused with oxygen, continues to circulate after the heart and lungs are gone. Your stomach, liver, intestines, all will follow in inverse order of their importance, so that, at each stage, you will deceive yourself the procedure remains reversible.

Adam's smile vanished as he leaned towards Eugene, hissing. "It will not be, for its irreversibility depends upon no petty mechanical detail, but upon my will to see you discomfited. Which is implacable."

The smile reappeared, Adam's voice approaching a conversational tone. "You will find you are not able to refrain from imagining I might be dissuaded. Measures will be taken so that you might continue capable of pleading, at first for a reprieve, at last for a swift, clean death." Adam rubbed his hands together and circled the table. "And, my dear brother, you will see every moment of it! Oblivion will be denied you! We even have the means to keep you from closing your eyes! From the neck up, you will feel normal. From there down, you will be a hollow shell, sealed up neat and tidy, dependent on my will for whatever remaining days, weeks, if we are fortunate, you enjoy, if that's the word for it." Adam halted, eyes bright, and leaned into his brother's face again. "Never again will you eat, eliminate, draw breath, let alone take part in life's more gratifying functions. I have not been told whether you will sleep. I should think you wouldn't want to. The dreams might be worse than reality. Dependent upon your attitude, you may be allowed, trailing tubes and conductives, to arise and perambulate. By any practical measure, you'll be dead, a biological curiosity. Long after you weary of such an empty---pardon the expression---existence, you may be permitted to complete your death."

For a moment, Eugene's eyes were wild with the horror at what he had been told or with murderous anger at his brother. In an instant, they regained a normal, almost sleepy appearance. Adam became alarmed lest his victim faint, depriving him of further pleasure. He reached out and slapped Eugene across the face. Ignoring Adam, Eugene whispered the name of the girl he had loved and left behind. Adam laughed.

"I looked forward to this, fearing you had formed another attachment." Which would be a pity, Adam thought, considering that Lida Khabalova was neither among the prisoners nor the slain. "Pay attention, now. You shall find what I have to say of some importance." He watched his brother's eyes. "You see, while wooing Zaytseva's daughter, I have, by his explicit invitation, had my way with your woman, as well. Every day! I force myself upon her, use her in any every way possible, hurt her, demean her, humiliate her, punish her, do you hear, for every advantage you ever enjoyed by virtue of your birth!"

A sick look colored Eugene's eyes. Again he struggled to raise his head. "Every perverse appetite Veronica stimulates within you---and frustrates?"

Adam hurled himself from the table. "Have it your way," he shouted. "corpse! Skeleton! I shall give you a choice of what to watch when the techs begin. I shall go to the tower this instant and take your woman again, enfiling it so you can what, as they eviscerate you, what I shall continue doing to her long after you are food for the carnivipedes!" Eugene's head sank to the table, his mouth working with pain. Adam laughed. "While you wait here, knowing what I do, here is a thought to savor. I planned this a long time. The lots we drew, determining our fates----Zakh to certain death, you to ignominy, me to power, wealth, the sweet bodies of your woman and mine.---were contrived. You drew the stem I intended, do you hear me Eugene!?" This time Adam received no response. His brother's eyes were closed. "Eugene!"

Frustrated, Adam slapped his brother's face again. Eugene's head rolled. From his open mouth gushed a torrent of scarlet fluid. "Eugene!"

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LIght unbearable. Heat impossible. Sound, which hammered not just at Maria's ears but at every square line of her body. In the focus of her field of consciousness, a multi-limbed figure moving, swimming, at home amidst the intense and brilliant hammering which was the heartbeat of a living star.

It spoke. "Acknowledgment, Maria Petrovka, Knowledge-Conveyor and Inheritor of the affiliance Sorokin on the planetary body known as Genrich, of mutual existence and psychological visibility. I am a pseudoresponsive communicable, within limits able to answer questions. My outer envelope is necessitated by differences between our environments. Without it, I would not survive exposure to your surroundings, nor would you survive exposure to me."

Maria heard herself speak. "Who....What are you?"

"My enfiler is Larahram, Genius-Questioneer to the Justifiers of the nation-state Ohenedaat, of the Scon. It is his voice and appearance that you are experiencing. He has enfiled me within the central regions of a medium yellow sun, not unlike the primary of your own stellar complex, to convey to you, personally, knowledge of his existence, and to propose a transaction of mutual benefit..."

A chill seemed to waft through Maria's body. "'Genius-Questioneer' I understand. Why do you call me Inheritor?"

The communicable appeared to ignore her question. "It is vital that you understand that I am more than a mere message enfiled in another place. I am also able to draw information from those I communicate with and, in a limited fashion, form my own conclusions."

Every moral fiber she had was called upon as Maria framed carefully her next question. "If so, then why do you draw a conclusion that leads you to call me Inheritor?"

"Ritual formula of regret, that my capabilities are finite and that additional limitations have been placed upon them by my enfiler. You, Maria Petrovka, Knowledge-Conveyor and Inheritor, much adjudge for yourself whether or not I have obtained correct data and make correct inferences. If so, I have come too late to be of use to anyone else of your affiliance."

"Is Zakh truly dead?"

"Ritual formula of regret, I possess no referent---yes: insufficient data regarding missing Zakh Sorokin, third of the affiliance. You have become the appropriate recipient because you are affiliated, under your people's customs, with Eugene Sorokin, first of the affiliance, Oligarch-Hereditary-In-Exile upon the planetary body known as Genrich. It is he who is dead."

Maria missed the next comments made by the communcale. Had she not been experiencing what seemed much like a dream, she might well have lost consciousness with the shock of hearing this, even from an unsure source.

"....Zaytseva, capable of any act in order to achieve what he wants. The daughter, Veronica, is strategically insignificant. Yet within her, at a tactical level, exists an unlimited potential for evil. You are to be warned in her presence. She has already helped subvert the moral well-being of the entity Adam Sorokin, second of the affiliance."

"You t-tell me nothing new. What of this proposition that you offer?

"I shall now proceed to tell you about it...."191Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeMGvq8DflC
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A shadow fell across her. The first sound Maria heard as her eyes swam into focus was the voice of the Black Usurper. "It would seem that Mistress Petrovka has certain skills with locks we had no idea she possessed."

OUt of sight, Veronica tittered. Aware of her surroundings, Maria sat in the chair she had placed behind the desk---the communicale had vanished---head pillowed upon its surface by her arm, from which the quickblade had been removed. Lifting her head, she saw the weapon lying in Zaytseva's lap.

"Tell me, Maria, have you been enjoying my practical joke?"

"Joke?" She was so groggy that the word came in a croak.

"Why, yes. I am learning to program that contraption, and fear you are a victim of one of my little hoaxes. Pardon me, if what I ask is personal, but from your bruises, it seems you have enjoyed an energetic session with young Adam. Is this why you disdain the comfort of your apartment?"

"The message was false?" Maria slipped sideways and fell to the floor, unable to move, sobbing into the carpet despite herself. Zaytseva looked down at the disheveled mess she had become and back across the office, appreciating more than ever the angelic beauty of his daughter.

"Premier, what a fuss! Call the guard, if you wish, call two guards! Get her out. Send her back to the tower and have her better obstructed." Veronica left to obey. Zaytseva looked down at Maria, now weeping without noise. "I shall have a word with Adam, once he's through playing with his brother in the basement. He must learn to take better care of his toys."

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A bewildering complexity of feelings concerning his brother struggled within Adam as he climbed to the ground floor from the foundations of the Holdings. He dare not examine them now and more than likely he never would.

Passing through the outer office, he noted that although the staff had retired, the place still bore signs of attack. The door to the inner office was ajar. Having suffered the rebels' rude attentions, the hinges had sprung and the catch no longer mated. He paused before entering, distracted by a flashing light upon a receptionist's console which proved no more than a minor failure of the mechanism itself. Lifting a weary, shaking hand to push the door aside, he heard Zaytseva's wheeled chair whine for an instant. He stayed his hand, unsure of what to tell the Usurper of his brother's premature demise, knowing he would be held responsible. Thus, by accident, he overheard--and by chance did not interrupt---what went on within.

"Veronica..." The girl's assenting voice was to Adam's ear false-toned. He stepped to one side. Yellow-tinted light of late afternoon---the sun would set within the hour---flooded the inner office, shadowing the crack through which he peeked. Zaytseva was visible in the profile. Veronica stood before her father's chair, eyes cast downward, one small hand in each of his. As Adam watched, she lowered herself gracefully to her knees, gazing into his face, her slender forearms resting upon his thighs. "Relieve me."

To Adam's horror, aloof and haughty Veronica, whom he desired above all women (yet who had, with infuriating consistency, evaded his grasp), loosened her father's clothing with swift, delicate fingers, dropping her head to his lap, demonstrating in the most unmistakable terms her subservience. Zaytseva sighed, eyes closed, hands rested upon her pale curls.

"Vindication," Zaytseva murmured a monologue, his daughter being unable to reply, "I swore to win so long ago at the expense of the presumptuous Sorokin and his peasant brood, is all but complete. You, my dear, are my angel of revenge. The token I imposed upon myself, of my determination in this affair is no longer necessary. I, whom it amuses others to call 'Usurper'---they dare not call me 'cripple'---am free to be a man again!" Repositioning himself, he muttered unintelligibles at the beautiful Veronica, who, judging from the noises she elicited, performed to his entire satisfaction. "It will please you to learn that I have started my treatment which will abolish my confinement and extend my life by an indefinite measure."

Adam felt bitterness stir inside him. Enough to witness Veronica's abject, incestuous compliance with Zaytseva's obscene demands, with what even Adam considered the man's disgusting appetites (although he shared a good deal of them, himself). Jealousy and disappointment filled him with unbearable pain. That he had been swindled, would not inherit the power and position which were his birthright from an elderly invalid who had rejected life and all it had to offer and would soon be dead----that was infinitely worse.

Zaytseva threw his head back and cried out, hands flattening the curls at the nape of his daughter's neck, crushing her to him as she gathered the fabric of his trousers into shaking, tight-clenched fists. Adam had seen enough. He turned upon his heel and strode from the office, making plans which would give him vengeance upon everybody. This, and his angry footsteps, took him to the stairway leading to the tower where vengeance would start.

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Placing a finger in a depression of the new lockplate, Adam fretted as its ulsic mechanism assayed traces of perspiration for immunity factors. From one hand a bundle swung heavily at his knee. The lock clicked; the door, built as it was from massive timbers, swung at his touch. As usual, hoping that Maria would cower into a corner from fear, he entered. The room, however, possessed a decided lack of corners, nor did she retreat. As much as she may have liked to, it had never been within the compass of her character.

Something clinked at her feet. Having had the freedom of Zakh's old room, she was, at Zaytseva's order, being punished for her escape (in a sense she was fortunate, the death of the guard having been attributed to the rebels), restrained by a collar fastened by a long chain to the wall. The sight of the metal band around her throat stirred him. Battered as she was, with dark circles under her eyes, she stood unbroken in the tattered gown she had once again assumed at the chain's limit. He shut the door behind him.

"They think that I fail to see," he was abrupt, "that you were given to me as a distraction, a consolation prize, taking pressure off Veronica who makes countless promises, implicit, and explicit, keeping none." Across the room, out of her reach, stood a cabinet. Here he placed his bundle---it clinked, not unlike her chain---items salvaged from the dungeons which he had earlier retrieved, sure he would discover uses for them. He had intended moving the cabinet to the landing outside. Now, given her collar, being unable to reach them, it pleased him to think she could look upon these items in his absence, anticipating his return. "You, because you despise me and make no pretense, because you fancy that you belong to my brother, believe I shall grow tired of you." He strode towards her. "Both parties to this hoax make a dreadful mistake, Maria, as you are about to learn to your discomfort and humiliation once more. As you shall learn as often in future as necessary. As they will learn to their ruin and dismay when the time comes!"

He stood close. She had learned better than to resist; at the first sign he would call guards---he relished Cossacks for the task---to wrestle her into a compliant posture. Taking her by her wrists, he pulled the gown from her shoulders, exposing a breast which he seized, rolling the nipple cruelly between thumb and forefinger where dark ovals, evidence of such treatment, were visible. She bit her lip, accepting his abuse in silence, although a single glistening tear, whether of pain or chagrin even she could not have sworn, squeezed from beneath the fronting of her eyelashes and rolled down her cheek.

Adam grinned. Releasing her wrists, he draped an arm over her shoulder, letting his hand trail down her back. He crushed his mouth to her breast, sucking, biting until he discerned a trace of blood. Leaning her back until he almost lifted her, he reached for her skirt hem, crumpling the fabric into rude folds until his free hand burrowed beneath it. The invading hand traveled up smooth flesh, fondling and pinching, prying her thighs apart. Despite herself, Maria whimpered, stiffening as he cupped the mound between her legs, thrusting his fingers into the warm, moist, and fragrant warmth.

Holding her thus, he released her shoulder and stretched for a pair of heavy bracelets from the bundle he had left upon the cabinet, beyond her reach but just inside his own. Locking her hands beside her, he released his intimate hold on her, turned, and shoved her face down, onto the unblanketed bed. Pushing the hem of her skirt up around her waist, he fumbled at the fastenings of his trousers, threw himself upon her, and seized her by both breasts. His weight bore upon her, bracelets slicing into the flesh, as without warning, he thrust himself into her as if she were a boy.

This being his favorite way with her, for no reason other than it caused her greatest suffering, pain, as much from previous such violations as this, seared her. Maria wept with destroyed pride, neither for the first time nor the last. Eugene was dead. Worse, s he had discovered a compelling reason to endure this, provided, of course, she could.

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Of Dungeons and Towers

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