Starfall (Starflight #2)(75)
Kane nodded vigorously. Flip the switch. Please flip the switch.
“Let’s see how well you were listening.” Fleece tapped an ear. “If a guest asks for a cocktail delivered to the pool, what do you say?”
“Yes,” the men chanted in unison.
“If a guest asks you to rub lotion on their shoulders, what do you say?”
“Yes.”
“If a guest asks you for a dance, what do you say?”
“Yes.”
“If a guest invites you to spend the night, what do you say?”
“Yes.”
“That’s right,” Fleece murmured, though he still didn’t seem satisfied. He clasped both hands behind his back and paced the area in front of the cage. When he stopped, it was right in front of Kane. Their eyes locked and held. Fleece sharpened his gaze as if to test Kane apart from the others. “If a guest asks you to fight one of the men beside you, and tells you not to stop fighting until that man is dead, what do you say?”
Kane didn’t hesitate. “Yes!”
A thousand times, yes. Just flip the goddamned switch!
Fleece smiled. This time he was pleased. Kane could tell by the length of his strides as he made his way to the air tanks mounted on the wall. There was a collective exhale from all around, the sound of fifty men silently praying for release.
And then Fleece did it. He flipped the switch.
Kane was so elated he could cry. He squeezed his nose through an open square in the chain link and inhaled one eager gasp after another until he smelled that familiar aroma, the one that promised everything would be all right. And it was. The rush came like a thousand rays of sunlight trying to escape from his body. A blanket of pleasure wrapped around him, starting at his toes and electrifying every inch of him until he imagined his hair stood on end. With his lips parted, he threw back his head and rode the sensation for wave after intoxicating wave. Then slowly, it began to recede like the tide, farther and farther away until nothing remained.
When it was over, he found himself on the floor once again.
Counting the hours until next time.
Adel Vice was a paradise in the making.
Most of the planet was still in basic terraformed mode, a blank slate of soil and sea. But the developed areas bloomed with lush, tropical greenery and crystal beaches made from the silkiest imported sands in the galaxy. A sprawling resort hugged the waterfront, stretching in a thin curve along the surf that ensured every room offered a stunning view. Behind the suites, construction was wrapping up for various restaurants, nightclubs, casinos, and a few buildings designated as VICE DENS. The clatter of nail guns filled the air, joined by the scents of plaster and wet paint as workers rushed to finish in time for next week’s top secret grand opening. Supposedly, the first group of guests had been extended private invitations based on the absurdity of their wealth and their reputations for debauchery.
Whatever.
As long as Kane received his daily allowance, it was all good.
He’d only been here for three days, but he knew the routine. It wasn’t exactly rocket science. The Zhang mafia ran the place. Ari Zhang was the head boss, but no one ever saw him. He’d brought in dozens of managers from Earth to take care of business. Those men wore red shirts to distinguish themselves from the workers, who wore white. As long as Kane did what he was told, he received an inhaler refill each morning at breakfast. The refill didn’t give him the rush he craved—he had to work a whole week to earn that—but it made him strong enough to get through the day.
Obey the Redshirts. Breathe. Repeat. It was easy.
The first few days had covered basic orientation. Now Kane and the other newcomers were gathered outside the administration building to receive their work assignments. He peered at the dozen or so boxy dorms arranged in tidy rows behind the admin building and wondered which one would be his. According to rumors, workers were divided by occupation and bunked together in barracks similar to the mining camp on Batavion.
“All right, listen up,” hollered a Redshirt at the front of the group. “When I call your name, report to the corresponding housing number. Your supervisor will meet you there and show you the ropes. Don’t bother asking for a substitution, because that’s not how it works here. You’ll do the job you’re assigned. Understood?”
Everyone nodded.
The Redshirt pointed at barracks number one and called the names of the maintenance workers. After those men strode away, he repeated the process for the service staff in barracks two, and then the cleaning crew in building number three. Somewhere around group six, he stopped mentioning what the occupations were. The seventh group consisted of all women. Their dorm was located off to the side, behind an electric fence. Kane dropped his gaze as the ladies padded quietly across the lawn. He didn’t want to think about what their job was. He took a puff of his inhaler to chase away the sick feeling in his chest. As soon as that sweet flavor crossed his tongue, his shoulders lightened and he sighed in relief.
Sometime later, Kane heard his name, along with instructions to report to building number eleven. He waited to hear who else was assigned to that barracks, but the Redshirt moved on to the next group. With a shrug and another breath from his inhaler, he made his way to the last dorm at the end of the residential area. The door was propped open, so he leaned inside and peeked around, finding it vacant.
The room was laid out much as he’d expected, with two rows of bunks leading to a washroom at the other end. About half the mattresses were bare, telling him which beds were available—most of them upper bunks. No surprise there. What did pique his interest was the gym equipment lining the perimeter of the room. It looked like a training circuit.