Free City Of Tears by Cyndi Friberg Page A

guess I’m destined to be a whore.”
    He didn’t follow her to the rooftop landing pad, so Ensley allowed her expression to relax. As usual Cyrus saw what he expected to see. Did he really think she’d jaunt off with the Rodytes without researching the situation?
    She’d studied Rodyte customs as well as learning their language. They put no more importance on sex than any other bodily function. If they were hungry, they ate; if they were fatigued, they slept; and if sexual desire stirred, they copulated. Rape was not met with abhorrence by the Rodytes because they didn’t revere sex. Sharing a partner was no more significant than sharing a meal.
    Many misconstrued their actions as barbaric, while in reality they were bound by a strict code of conduct. Honor was everything to the Rodytes. They would die to protect their honor and kill to avenge the honor of those close to them. The key to dealing with Rodytes was understanding what they considered honorable.
    * * * * *
    “Well, this is a great big barrel of suck .”
    Lyrik laughed, drawing Saebin’s attention away from the confounding person seated across from them. Dro Tar spoke a bizarre dialect of Earthish that Saebin could barely comprehend. After inviting them into her living quarters, she told them she was going to “put on something more appropriate.”
    Saebin stared at the brightly colored walls and the translucent furniture, torn between fascination and abhorrence. The material covering the floor had long, individual strands, making it appear shaggy. Hung at sporadic intervals along the walls were framed images depicting pale-skinned, dark-haired men in menacing poses. Most of the men were groping large-breasted women and many displayed fangs.
    “What are those?” she asked Lyrik.
    “Reproductions of movie posters. Movies were entertainment vidfiles people gathered to watch on large screens. These posters advertised vampire movies.”
    “What is a vampire?”
    “I’ll leave that one for Dro Tar.”
    Walking to the wide, purple sofa, Saebin poked it with her finger. The smooth, shiny couch was inflated with air or some sort of gas.
    “You think this is bizarre, you should see her bedroom.”
    Lyrik sat on one end of the sofa. Saebin took the other, wiggling until she accustomed herself to the odd, floating sensation. “Is this person your lover?”
    He laughed. “Hardly. Her tastes run toward tall, dark, and dangerous, as you can tell.” He motioned toward the movie posters.
    Dro Tar returned a short time later, wearing faded blue jeans and a different tee shirt. This one was formfitting, with a slogan that read: Submit, Worship, Obey! In progressively larger letters.
    “I hate to drag you into this,” Lyrik told Dro Tar, “but I really wasn’t sure where else to take her.”
    “Hell, trouble’s my middle name. I love a good intrigue. Your Daddy Dear would rather have a root canal than deal with me, so robocop should be safe for a while anyway.”
    “I know you’ve taken on some unconventional tasks for Trey. If I give you an anonymous access code, will you do some snooping around for me?”
    “Depends whose business I’ll be snooping into.”
    “We have reason to believe the woman who helped design Saebin’s implants and body armor is here on Ontariese. It’s possible she’s in the City of Tears, but if she’s working for the overlord she’ll be damn hard to trace.”
    “How is that possible?” Dro Tar glanced at Saebin, her expression tense and concerned. “The only people who came back through the portal were the refugees and your crew. Did we have a stowaway?”
    “The woman we’re looking for is one of the refugees. Saebin doesn’t know her name, so see if you can find an image roster.”
    Saebin fidgeted on the inflatable couch. How well did Lyrik know this woman? Saebin hated her vulnerability and the raw aching emotions churning just beneath the surface. She needed her suit, longed for the balance, the barrier.