Someday...

Someday...

Zar'im moaned softly and struggled not to pass out as the regenerative lights flashed endlessly in his tiny room. The cure was almost as bad as the cause. He felt his wounds going in reverse. Felt the sting and bite of torn flesh stretching and weaving itself back together. Pops and clicks rang in his ears while his dislocated hips righted themselves. A scream ripped from his throat as his broken wrists reset and then fused the bones back in place.

The regenerator stopped and a cold shower descended on the cell, washing away the blood and sweat that was smeared on the floor and Zar'im's snow white body. It was followed by a hot blast of air that left the room and it's inhabitant perfectly dry.

When Zar'im finally managed to open his eyes he saw one of the guards standing at the door, ordering him to his feet. He stood on shaking legs and did a slow turn, letting the man examine him. His flesh was as smooth and firm as the day he'd come to Tamir. No trace of punishment marred his perfect form; no scars remained, no sickness haunted him, not even one silver hair was out of place on his head. The only part that gave a hint of his years of abuse was the lost and distant look in his downcast eyes.

The guard threw him a pair of black leggings, the only bit of modesty allowed to Tamir slaves, and shut the door with a heavy thud. Zar'im dressed quickly and sat back on the floor. The thick black collar was digging into him at an awkward angle but when he tried to right it he received a series of electrical shocks until he finally had to give up and deal with the discomfort. He held his fingers to his burgundy eyes and willed his tears not to fall, Qren would be doing enough of that for the both of them. Slowly, the morning's excursions overtook him and he fell into a deep sleep, comforted by dreams of soft hands and long hair trailing over his naked stomach.

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Qren made his way slowly down block D. The only sounds he made were the grating of metal as he slid open the cell windows and passed bowls of tasteless mush to the slaves on the other side. He was taking his time on purpose, waiting for the guard to finish his rounds and leave the hall.

Junit, the guard of the East wing, came up beside him and playfully flipped Qren's lavender hair. He kept it in a French braid that started just behind his bangs and ended at the small of his back. The burley guard loved to tug on that silken rope, trying to illicit a playful squeal from it's beautiful owner.

"Everything looks in order here. I'm headed to the next floor, unless you need me. The one in 210 was in the main show room this morning, got it pretty bad. Took a whole hour to regenerate him. Slaves tend to get desperate and stupid after an ordeal like that."

Qren flinched, a reaction that Junit took as fear, but smiled up at the man. "No, I'll be fine, thank you. Go on ahead. I'll be sure to keep my distance with that one."

The guard patted his back and turned to go. As soon as he'd entered the elevator, Qren rushed to the door marked 210 and threw open the little window. Zar'im had heard him coming down the hall and was waiting for him, his body pressed firmly against the metal barrier as if trying to get as close to the man as possible. Their lips met instantly, pressing at each other with an unyielding hunger. Qren let the kiss last a few seconds longer than usual before tearing himself away and rechecking the hall for prying eyes.

"What did they do to you this time? Please, please tell me."

Zar'im just shook his head. Qren always asked but he would never tell. It would be heard soon enough. The showers loved to brag about their performance in the mess hall and by nightfall Qren would know it in such detail it would be as if he'd lived it himself. But the few moments they had together were precious and Zar'im refused to waste them with stories that would only bring pain to his visitor.

The two men pressed their foreheads together, wishing desperately that their devotion could melt metal and break walls. They dreamed of a day when they could truly hold each other, body against body, instead of trying to cram their affection through a seven inch window. But for now, seven inches were all they had and the two were grateful for even that much.

"I asked Nolly about the North Gates," Qren said, smoothing Zar'im's chin length hair in his motherly fashion. "He said the lower classes can get through if they have a trader's pass from one of the Masters."

"Please stop doing that, Qren. If anyone found out why you were asking questions like that you'd end up just like me. You have to be more careful."

"I am, really. No one will know. Nolly was too drunk to remember anyway. Just trust me, Zar. I know what I'm doing. I'm going to get us out of here someday, I promise."

Zar'im reached out and brushed his fingers across the corners of Qren's eyes, the iris had been cosmetically altered to the same metallic silver as Zar'im's hair. It was the secret sign that Qren carried of his love and the gift had moved Zar'im to tears the first time he saw it. Zar'im found his strength in Qren's eyes. They shone with such hope and life. All the problems of the world fell away whenever he saw those perfect eyes peeking through the window of his door. "I trust you," he said. "No matter what the Master thinks, my life is yours and yours alone. Forever."

A smile came to Qren's lips and he grabbed the bottom of the window, resting his chin on his hands like a child. "Tell me."

Zar'im shook his head, "Not now. There's no time. The guard will be back soon."

"No, he's still on rounds downstairs. Please, Zar. Tell me."

He sighed and cradled Qren's face in his hands, leaning in closer as he started their story. "Someday, we'll leave this place in the cover of night and travel north. We'll escape Kindlar's Wall and cross the Caston River into Dieyeer, the land of my mother's father where Posita is still loved and the laws of Nontalsa do not apply. There we'll be free. Truly free. And no one can stop our love. But that day is not today so you must go before they catch us and bar you from seeing me."

"I love you," Qren mumbled, pressing their lips together once more before passing Zar'im his bowl of pitiful food and sliding the metal window closed, shutting off the sight of the man he lived for. The click of the latch echoed deep in his heart. He pressed himself against the door once more, imagining Zar'im was doing the same thing on the other side.

The elevator dinged and Qren hurried to the next door, continuing his mundane task as if nothing had happened. Junit followed beside him, waiting for him to finish so they could go to dinner, hoping tonight would be the night he'd lure Qren back to his room. Qren just smiled and pretended he didn't notice his advances. As they walked back toward the elevator, Qren let his fingers brush across the width of Zar'im's door, an action unseen by his companion but one that made his own heart beat a little faster, just like it did every time his love was near.

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"Welcome to Club Tamir, Sir Patters." Bren threw open the lobby door and ushered his guest into the main hall. "This is the ultimate resort for rest and relaxation. Our one of a kind atmosphere is guaranteed to relieve all the stress life brings and leave you in peace and harmony.

"We have a four star dining room and a fully stocked bar and lounge, all of which will be complimentary throughout your stay. Out back, we have a swimming pool, tennis court, and the finest gardens in all of Nontalsa."

"What about the shows?"

Bren smiled and led Petters through another door, admiring the way he got down to business. "This is our main showroom. We have displays twice a day; before lunch and after dinner. We also have eight private rooms for your personal enjoyment. Our showmen are the best in the land and we only accept the most attractive slaves, so you are sure to get your money's worth. Currently we have 24 females and 21 males, all of them perfectly trained in our special brand of entertainment. The console in your room is equipped with a sample video of each one and all you need do is press a button to reserve a private session when you see one to your liking."

They moved on to the various private chambers, each one filled with different toys and instruments. Patters spent a great amount of time examining the equipment, pretending he knew what each one was for even though half of them completely baffled him. "I can have any slave I wish whenever I require?"

"Well, yes and no." Bren moved the tour into the back courtyard, giving a polite nod to the other guests relaxing there. "As I'm sure you know, Tamir holds the patent and sole operating rights on the Stafore Regenerator. That little beauty has increased our productivity considerably. Instead of waiting the weeks or months it takes a body to heal on it's own, a slave can now be back to normal in a matter of minutes. This has allowed us to remove most of the limitations we had to place on our previous guests. To our motto is, as long as it's not fatal, anything foes. However, we do try to limit a slave's showings to once every three-to-five days. Although we can heal their physical wounds with no problems, I'm afraid the regenerators do nothing to improve their mental states. When they were first installed we did try to work our stock daily which proved to be a grave error on my part. The strain proved to be to much on them. I lost almost half of them to catatonia and the rest had to be sold as simple house slaves. After all, no one enjoys being entertained by a zombie. Since then we have limited the frequency our slaves are used but I assure you, we have more than enough to keep you satisfied."

They stopped for a moment, Patters seeming interested in the exercise yard. He tested some of the equipment with a satisfied grunt. "What time do you bring the slave out here? If I chose to stay I'd want to come here at a time when they wouldn't disturb my workout."

"Not to worry. Here at Tamir we've taken every precaution to ensure the comfort of our visitors. The regenerators keep our slaves as fit and healthy as the day we purchased them. Because of that there is no need at all to exercise them. The calls are self cleaning and meals are brought to them by our upstairs servants. Each one remains locked in it's cell until it's needed for a performance. Also, if you look to the top of the building you'll see we've taken the care to build our second floor completely without windows so that you will never see a slave looking down on you as you stroll the grounds. Our business is your enjoyment and I trust you'll be adequately satisfied.

"Come, the evening show is about to begin. It will give you a taste of the fun in store should you decide to stay the week with us."

They made their way back through the Pastel Garden and entered the showroom from the outside door. A half dozen guests already occupied the sitting area, reclining on velvet sofas our lounging in soft leather chairs. Bren led Patters to a pair of seats in the center and called a servant to bring them drinks. It was only a moment before the lights dimmed and everyone snapped their attention to the floor in front of them.

A busty female with curly teal hair and matching eyes walked to the center of the showfloor, her head bowed. She removed her simple black dress and handed it to the guard, leaving her completely nude except for the slave collar attached tightly to her neck.

She was laid on a table by a muscular gentleman wearing the violet pants that identified him as one of Tamir's showmen. "That's Sion," Bren whispered. "He's our pride and joy."

Sion secured the woman's limbs to the legs of the table and a spotlight focused on them. Music pumped through the wall speakers, slow at first but with a steadily increasing tempo. The showman selected his first instrument and, with a wave to the audience, let the performance begin.

The first stroke hit her just below the breasts. It tore through the skin and caused crimson rivers of blood to snake down her stomach. The slave gritted her teeth and wrenched her vibrant eyes shut but, remarkably, didn't cry out just yet. The next lash cut across her perfect thighs, eliciting a tremble and tiny squeak from the helpless victim.

Soin was an artist. His blows looked random at first, moving from chest to legs to stomach in no obvious order. After a few minutes he undid the bonds and ordered the slave to her feet. From her chest to her knees there were ten cuts, perfectly crossed so they connected into a latter of four bloody diamonds across the front of her body. The small crowd exploded with applause as Sion took his bow and led the slave over to the rack.

"Doesn't believe in starting slow, does he?" Patters said, leaning over the small table so Bren could hear him.

The owner just laughed, swirling the ice in his glass and giving his guest a wink. "This isn't the mere flogging of a house slave, dear Patters. Trust me, there is plenty of show left in him."

Two hours later, the girl was laying in an unidentifiable heap in the middle of the showfloor. Her hair had been dyed a rusty purple from the amount of blood tangled in it and she hadn't stopped moaning for the past thirty minutes. She watched as a servant, who was assigned to clean up after them, picked up the severed remains of her nipples and threw them unceremoniously in the trash. Two guards lifted her broken body and dumped it on a stretcher, wheeling her away to her cell. In just forty minutes she'd be regenerated to the perfect being who had first entered the room and would be left to wait for her next show.

"Makes all life's little problems just slip away, doesn't it?" Bren asked, giving his best smile to his hopeful client.

Patters had already fished out his credit card and was handing it to the man. "Reserve me three hours in room six first thing tomorrow morning and accommodations in your best suite, I'll be staying the week."

Bren snatched the card and gave a small bow, "Your wish is my command."

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Zar'im was still awake when the window in the bottom corner of his door slid open. A small hand crept inside and he seized it, squeezing softly before laying down so he could see out the low opening. Qren was there, curled up on his side and blinking back tears.

"Bad dreams my love?"

Qren nodded, wiping his eyes and scooting closer to the door. They each reached an arm through, wrapping it around the other's shoulder in an awkward embrace.

This happened every time. Qren would have to sit through story after story of Zar'im's abuse during his evening meal and then, just to show how cruel human nature really was, his subconscious would bombard him with visual reenactments as soon as he fell asleep.

"It's okay," Zar'im said, smoothing back the hair that was plastered to the tear tracks on Qren's cheeks. "It's over now. I'm fine. No one will hurt me for a few days."

Qren pouted, his bottom lip quivering in an emotion he rarely felt: white hot rage. "A few days to rest, what does that matter? They'll just do it again! They'll tear you apart piece by piece until they get to the day when they can't put you back together again! Why? Do they not care at all? Don't they see how special you are?"

"No baby, they don't." Zar'im spoke quietly, trying to soften his words as much as possible. The truth was harsh, but he wouldn't insult Qren with anything less. "I'm nobody. I'm less than nobody, I'm a slave, a toy for their amusement. I'm kept alive for the same reason the others are kept alive: because we make the master money. But I'm luckier than every other person in these cells. I'm living the life of a prince compared to them. I have you. I have a reason to wake up in the morning and eat my meals and keep as strong a grip on my sanity as I can. Let them beat me. So what. I'll heal. Let them keep me from the sun and the moon and all the stars in the sky, I don't care. All the beauty I need is right here in front of me. You're the reason I go on, Qren. The only reason. That's why you can't let this place get to you. No matter what they do, no matter what you hear, you have to stay strong. I get my strength from you and if you let this place get you down then we're both lost."

They laid in silence for a while, their fingers gripping each others arms in a form of affection that could not be put into words. They cuddled through a wall of metal and, for a moment, felt safe. Nothing could hurt them as long as they had each other.

"You get some sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."

Qren nodded and shut the window. He stood up and opened the one at eye level, watching with a smile as Zar'im's face appeared before him. They kissed briefly, letting there tongues meet for just a moment. Once again, their fear of being caught forced them apart long before they were ready. "Soon," Qren whispered, his eyes closing as he pressed his cheek against Zar'im's and felt his warmth. "Somehow... someway... soon. I promise."

"I'll be here, alive and well and waiting. Take time enough to be careful, my love. We'll have the rest of our lives... someday..."

Zar'im couldn't hide the sorrow in his eyes as Qren once again slid a chunk of impenetrable metal between them. He kissed his fingers and used them to trace a heart over the door, leaning against it and falling to the floor. He curled up in the corner and closed his eyes, trying to get to sleep himself. "Soon," he whispered. "Please baby, soon. I can't handle much more."