Beyond the Rim

The zodium started to take effect the next day. A strange cold and hot tingling ran through my body, across my skin. I sat in my studio on the couch, waiting for it to pass, hoping it wouldn’t make me sick.

Finally the tingling disappeared, and I felt normal again, just a little drained. I started a new painting; by now I had about eight sitting around the room, some that I was more partial to than others. Come to think of it, most of them were dark. Two with lighter colors, one that was mostly blue. Maybe I should think of painting something brighter.

I stepped back to look at the canvas, looking for inspiration. I’d been painting pain into my pictures; they each had to do with longing or loss in some way. Dare I paint something directly from my past?

I sketched out a rough arrangement and then stuck a blob of white onto the background. The snow of the world I’d grown up on, back when Mom and Dad were still alive. One of the few precious memories I had of them.

I was so involved in what I was doing, lost in the memory, that I didn’t hear the door open. I didn’t see the senator until he stood behind me and said, “I’m glad I came in here to see these.”

I whirled around, my brush flicking paint onto his suit. I waited for punishment. But the senator just laughed. “That’s all right. The suit looks better this way.” He walked around the room, looking at the paintings. “Hm,” he said. “Yes.” He picked several of them up, inspecting them closely. He stopped in front of the dark scream I’d finished in several hours. “I like this. You can just feel the emotion emanating from it.” He looked at me, as if examining me to see where that emotion had come from, how much was still inside me.

I had mixed feelings as he looked at my art. I wanted him to like them. At the same time, they were personal, and I didn’t want him or anyone looking at them; it was as if they were probing my soul. But because they were personal, I wanted approval, but why I wanted approval from a man who owned me and leased slave girls for his pleasure was beyond me.

“These are very good,” said the senator, walking back to me as I stood next to my easel. “You didn’t tell me you were a real artist.”

“Well, I’m not. I mean, I sold like two pieces before and my sister always said I was good, but, well, I never thought I was good enough to get anywhere.”

“These are still rather rough, but I like that about them. If you continued along this line, you could become a great artist.

“I know of several art connoisseurs who would buy them. I would, if I didn’t already have them.”

“Would you contact buyers for me?”

He smiled. “And what would you do with the money?”

“Could I keep it?”

“Yes, theoretically.”

“Could I buy my own freedom with it?”

Zodiak looked away, out the window. He shifted on his feet. “Hm. That’s a tricky question. It’s been done before. On the other hand, I don’t know whether Stace would let you go.”

My heart fell. Of course she wouldn’t. But maybe, if I persuaded her somehow…

Then I thought of the girl. The blonde, frightened girl. I’d tried to put her out of my mind; there was nothing I could do for her. But now….

I could always make more paintings for myself. Time was running out for Muriel; in three weeks, she would be gone, back to her owners.

“What about the girl?”

“What girl?”

“You know, Muriel.”

The senator grinned. “Ah. Yes, she is very…good. But I’m afraid she’s out of your league.”

“Can’t I buy her?”

“She is very lucrative for her owners. I doubt they’d sell her, even if you could afford her.”

“How much?”

“Five thousand creds.”

“What?”

“Yes, I doubt all of your pictures combined would be worth that much. She was very expensive to create.”

I looked down. Was there nothing I could do, for myself or the girl?

“Tell you what, Devlin. You won’t be able to buy her, but I’ll let you lease her for the rest of the month.”

The senator walked around the room, and picked up two paintings, the ship and the black scream. “I’ll take these,” he said. “And I’ll have her delivered to you. Would here be all right?”

I nodded, dizzy with my sudden success, though I didn’t know whether I’d done her much of a favor. She’d still be going back after three weeks.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t let Stace know about her. With that in mind, I’ll program the door to keep Stace out.”

“Won’t she get suspicious?”

“I’ll tell her you need privacy, your own personal space.”

“I don’t think she’ll like that.”

He shrugged. “She’ll have to accept it. Anyway, you’ll need your privacy, with this girl.” He smiled.

“Now, the reason I came in here in the first place was to ask you how you felt after the zodium treatment.”

“Fine. Just a tingly feeling, but that’s gone.”

“That’s normal. In a day or so, the techs will do a checkup and perform some tests.”

“What is the zodium supposed to do?”

“Well, the first stage was healing the skin. You skipped that part. This stage goes beneath the skin. That’s the one I’m excited about.”

“How come?”

“Because the regenerating properties will extend to the inner organs. In time, maybe we’ll discover the key to longevity.” He turned to the door. “Thank you for the artwork. Muriel will be delivered here within the hour.” And he walked out the door with my two pieces of payment.

I sat back down on the couch, wondering what I’d done. Would I be able to do anything for this girl? And if so, wouldn’t it just be a slap in her face—give her kindness then send her back to where she’d come from?

The girl arrived in about forty-five minutes. By that time, the sun was descending toward the horizon, hidden in the mist of red sand, sending a red glow through the room, splashed across my paintings. I rose to meet her.

The guard, Ginger, held her by the arms. She was dressed in a blue kimono, and her face was white and frightened, but not with the terror of the night of her arrival. “She’s all yours,” said Ginger, and strode out the door, leaving the girl with me.

Muriel stood there for a moment, then approached me, slowly. She lifted her arms to my shoulders and looked up at me. “Is there anything I can do for you?” she said.

I gently took her wrists and lifted them down from my shoulders. “The question is, is there anything I can do for you?”

“What would you like to do?”

“Whatever you want.”

She lifted her arms again to my shoulders, her trembling lips turning into a seductive smile. “I want to please you, Master.”

I shook my head. “I’m not your master. I—I’m a slave too.”

Her eyes widened a little, if that were possible. “You are a slave? But I thought that you were leasing me.”

“Not for pleasure. I want to free you, but the senator gave you to me, and I thought you might like to have a break. From him.”

“Why would I want a break?”

“If I could be free for just one minute, I’d take it.”

“Oh. This is my job, you know.”

“Do you like it?”

“It doesn’t matter what I like. It’s what I was made for.”

“Was he good to you?”

She hung her head. “That doesn’t matter.” She looked up at me. “Will you let me do my job?”

“I—”

“I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted.” She stood up on tiptoes and kissed me. She tasted like cinnamon and chocolate. I leaned into the kiss—

“No.” I tore away from her, wresting her arms from me.

She stood there, looking hurt. “Am I so undesirable?”

“No, Muriel. You are very beautiful. I just don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“This is what I do! You want to take that away from me?”

“I paid for you so you could have freedom. Are you saying you’d rather be a slave?”

“What else would I do?”

“There are so many things you could do. This studio is the one place where I can do whatever I want. It can be a free place for you, too. If you want, I can leave you alone here. I just don’t want you to touch my paintings.”

She nodded. “Whatever you want, Master.”

I tried to explain I wasn’t her master, but she didn’t seem to understand. Rather exasperated, I left her with the alcove for food and holos for entertainment and went to find Stace and we went skimming. Our relationship had turned into an easy companionship; I’d almost become comfortable with Stace’s erratic ways, and she seemed resigned to the fact that I would resist any advances. We went to bed, and I left Muriel in my studio, thinking she might want some time by herself, despite her insistence she didn’t. I didn’t want Stace to get suspicious, either.

In the morning, Stace had some classes, and I went to my studio. Muriel was huddled on the couch, sobbing. I went over to her and wrapped my arm around her. Tears had dampened her hair.

“What’s wrong?” I said.

“I was alone. I thought you’d left me….” Sobs wracked her body. I hugged her closer to me, and couldn’t help but feel a protective, almost possessive feeling.

I sat back against the arm of the couch. “Well, I’m here now,” I said. “Is there anything you want to do?”

She turned to me, tearstained face still beautiful, like a delicate porcelain doll. “I—I want to please you.” She kissed me. Her lips were hot, salty.

“Look, I didn’t buy you to do this, I bought you— I mean I took the lease to give you some freedom. Because I thought you might want some. If you don’t want it, fine. But you’re going to have it, whether you want it or not.”

I turned to my half-white canvas, squeezed out some green, and began painting.

Her muffled sobs tapered off, and I forgot she was there. I was adding highlights and finishing touches when she asked, out of the blue, “What is that?”

“This? It’s my home. Where I used to live.”

“Before you were a slave?”

“Way before. When I was a kid. This—” I pointed to the woman with my brush—” is my mom. I inherited her red hair. This—” I pointed to the man—“is my dad. He looks more like my sister, Vega, here.” I pointed to Vega, who had dark brown hair. They were all sitting together in a temporary igloo my dad had built for fun.

“Is this you?” she said, pointing to the little boy, a bright flame of red topping a blue snowsuit.

“Yes.”

“Do you miss them?”

A spaceship wrenched a hole through my heart. “Terribly.”

“I never had any parents. My owners grew me in an artificial womb, trained me, and then sold me.”

“I had no idea.”

“It wasn’t so bad. They were kind of like parents, all of them at the base. It was afterward—But no, I shouldn’t say bad things about the clients.”

I turned to her. “You shouldn’t be a slave, Muriel. No one deserves that. Even if they grew you, they have no claim on you! No one has the right to own another human being.”

She looked at me quizzically. “That’s not what I was taught. Some people are made to be masters; others are made to be slaves.”

“Do you think I deserve to be a slave?”

Her brow furrowed.

“All I did was crash-land on a planet, and me and Rock went through five days being prepped for this. It’s not so bad now. I mean, Stace isn’t, but they could do anything to me if they wanted to. You should be able to choose how you live. You, Muriel. Not me, or anyone else.”

She looked up at me, a light in her eyes I hadn’t seen before. I realized that confining her in this room was almost slavery in itself. Was there any way to help her feel like less of a prisoner? But then I thought of something

When out of my studio, the town was where I felt the most free. There, no one knew I was a slave. No one would know Muriel was either. She could learn how regular people lived. The trouble was, Stace wasn’t supposed to know Muriel existed. I doubted Zodiak would approve of her leaving the villa. And Muriel might betray the fact that she was a slave to the townspeople, and then we’d all be in a mess.

But one thing I knew—I needed to get her out of here.

The rest of the week, I had a hard time getting Muriel to realize I didn’t want her “services”. She seemed both hurt and relieved by this, and then she kind of went into a shell. She sat on the couch, arms wrapped around herself, staring into nothing. She wouldn’t eat and I don’t know if she slept. I called in a medic for her, and he appeared as a hologram. He said this was normal for customized pleasure slaves. When they weren’t doing their job, they retreated into a cocoon and shut out the world. The treatment? To force her to do her job. Well, I should have expected that from Zodiak’s personal medic. I wasn’t going to accept his diagnosis or remedy. Just because she’d been “made” for a specific purpose didn’t mean she wasn’t still a human being, who had wants and needs of her own. She just didn’t know how to be herself, without having to please a “master” all the time. It would probably be beyond me to heal her; that would take months, years, and then she’d probably never be totally over what she’d been through. But I had to at least try. My body was imprisoned; she was imprisoned by her mind.

I’d been spending even more time in the studio than usual, and Stace noticed. She also didn’t like the fact that the door had locked her out. “I mean, why does Daddy think you need time away from me? There’s one way to keep you to myself—I could forbid you to go to your studio.”

My heart flipped.

She punched my arm playfully. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t do that. I just want us to spend more time together, like we used to.”

To satisfy Stace, I stayed away from the studio for a whole day and night. I figured Muriel would be okay by herself.

When I went back, she wasn’t on the couch anymore. She was standing in front of the painting of my family. When I touched her shoulder, she jumped.

“It’s all right,” I said.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“You didn’t tell me to move.”

“I don’t care if you move. I just told you not to touch my pictures; you can do anything else you want. Though there’s not much to do in here….”

“How do you do it?”

“How do I do what?”

“How do you make them?”

“You saw me paint them.”

“But where do the pictures come from? How do you…”

“It’s hard to explain. I just…I see it in my head, and then I take a brush and I paint what I see. It generally doesn’t turn out exactly like the picture in my head, but I try to make it look like it.

“Would you like to try?” I picked up a blank canvas, and switched my picture for it. Then I dabbed a few colors onto the palette, and handed her a small, fine brush.

“Here. Just dip the brush in the paint, and put it here.”

She looked at the brush like it might stab her. “What picture do I make?”

“Just whatever you feel like.”

She just stood there for a minute, staring at the brush. “I don’t know what color I should use.”

“Here. I’ll help you start.” I put my hand over hers, grabbing the paintbrush with thumb and forefinger. I dabbed the brush in some green and spread a line across the canvas. “There. That can be the horizon line. Now you try.”

She gathered some more green, and touched the brush to the canvas. Then, she made a line beneath mine, the same size, just a little shakier.

“Um, that’s…good,” I said. I didn’t want to discourage her. “Now paint some more.”

She made about fifteen lines across the canvas, each one under the other.

She stepped back. “There. Did I do it right?”

“Very good,” I said, though it wasn’t what I would call art. “But—”

“Did I do something wrong?” Fear leaped into her voice.

“No! You didn’t do anything wrong. But there’s another way to do this.” I took the brush, dipped it in water, and mixed it with the yellow. Then, my hand over hers, I pulled her arm back, and then slapped the watery paint across the lines of green.

She gasped. “It’s ruined!”

“It’s not ruined. Go ahead. Don’t think about what you’re doing. Just paint! Have fun with it.”

A puzzled look on her face, she dipped the brush in some red. She looked at me for approval, but I just smiled. She made a red dot in the middle of it, then squiggled the brush in a flurry of motion. For a moment, she got lost in creating that red blur.

Then she stepped back. “How is that?”

“It’s beautiful, Muriel.”

With my encouragement, she continued the picture, growing in enthusiasm. By the end, it was a splashy mess, and so were we. I’d gotten in there to help her, and paint dripped all over us. But that didn’t matter. Muriel had created her first work of art.

The next day, I devised a rather shaky plan to get us to town. Larin, the maid, agreed to help me. I’d hesitated to involve her, but she was the only one I could trust. She let me use the servants’ side-lift and gave us a pass to the hangar, where we could get skimmers.

That afternoon, we snuck through the house, avoiding the senator and Stace and dodging guards. We made it to the hangar. Muriel said she’d never skimmed before and I showed her how to use one, but even though I said it was easy, she looked at it like it would buck her off. I didn’t want to stay there long in case someone showed up, so I chose a two-person skimmer and she stood behind me, her arms around my waist.

I took it slow; she was already scared out of her mind. I wished she’d just lean into the wind instead of burying her face against my neck, but she’d probably rarely been outdoors in her life.

We stopped at the edge of town. “Remember, Muriel,” I said. “You can say anything you want. Just don’t say anything that has to do with your being a slave.”

She shook her head, shrinking back against the background of sky and red sand. “I don’t think I can do this. I want to go back. Please.”

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I didn’t care so much about the senator’s rule as I did that the people didn’t treat us as slaves. If she acted like one, she’d blow our cover.

I put my arm around her shoulder. “They’re good people. We’ll just go to Grimm and Summer’s house. Little Sari would love to meet you.”

“Sari?”

“Their little girl. You’ll like her.”

She let me lead her down the street toward Grimm’s house. Some boys were playing ball in the center square and I hoped none of them had been at the nightclub the night I was there. So far I’d been able to avoid the nightclub kids—I’d seen some, but they hadn’t gotten close to me.

I rang the doorbell, and Summer opened the door. “Oh, hi,” she said, brushing her hair back from her forehead. “What’s up?”

“Just here for a visit. This is my friend, Muriel.”

“Come on in.”

Inside, we sat down around the table. “Would you like some refreshments?”

“The usual,” I said. “What would you like, Muriel?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“How about lemonade?” I said.

Muriel nodded.

“So, where’s Grimm and Sari?” I asked.

“Grimm took Sari to the clinic,” said Summer. “She has a fever.”

“Oh no.”

“She’s had it for several days. But today, it jumped up several degrees. We figured we should take her in.” Summer set two tall glasses of lemonade in front of us. She had limeade herself.

“I’ve been trying not to worry—it’s probably just a bug. But she hasn’t gotten sick since she came here. And she used to have high fevers when she had that disease, kosten.”

“I hope she’ll be all right.”

“Me too.” Summer frowned, looked down at her reflection in the black table. A tear slipped from her eye to splash onto the surface. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve been so worried about her.

“So, Muriel, where are you from?”

Muriel only sat, looking at her lap.

I answered. “She’s from a Rimworld. She’s not really used to travelling or meeting new people, so…”

itantly. “I’m here till—just two weeks.”

“Then you go back home?”

She nodded.

“What’s your home like?”

“It’s really small.”

“Small? Is it a moon?”

Muriel shrugged.

“It’s a moon,” I said. I conjured up a memory of a moon I’d once been to, in case Summer asked any more questions about it. “It’s mostly volcanic, but the poles have some regular land.”

“So how did you and Devlin meet?”

Muriel said, as if in a daze, “They brought me to his studio. He painted lots of pictures, and he didn’t want me.” She was incapable of making anything up.

“Didn’t want you? What do you mean?”

“What she means is, we met in an art class, and I didn’t like her picture.”

“Oh.” Summer looked puzzled. I didn’t blame her.

Muriel turned to me. “I thought you liked my picture.”

“I did—Do! The picture you did yesterday, I liked very much.”

Muriel smiled as if I’d given her the worlds’ biggest compliment.

“Well,” I said, “It was nice seeing you, but we were just stopping by.”

Just then, the door slid open, and Grimm walked in, carrying Sari. His face looked ashen, his skin sheened with sweat.

“Hi,” said Sari, waving at us. “Daddy, let me down.”

Grimm set Sari on the floor, and sat down wearily next to Summer. “Hi, Devlin,” he said. “We’ve got a very sick girl on our hands. She doesn’t look like it now, but that’s because they pumped her full of drugs.”

Sari ran toward me and leaped into my lap. She hugged me. “I was sick, but now I feel lots better. I liked those doctors.” She jumped off my lap and ran over to Muriel. “Hi. I’m Sari.” She held out her hand. “Who are you?”

Muriel just looked at the little hand.

“Take her hand. It’s a custom of theirs.”

Muriel grasped Sari’s hand, and Sari shook it. “You’re pretty,” said Sari. “Do you want to play a game with me?”

Muriel nodded.

“Good!” She grabbed Muriel’s hand, and dragged her toward the door. “You can’t come, Devlin. Girls only.”

“Okay, fine with me,” I said.

“Just don’t stay out too long,” said Summer. “Fifteen minutes.”

Muriel and Sari disappeared through the door.

“I’m not sure if that’s such a good idea,” said Grimm.

A pained look crossed Summer’s face. “Fifteen minutes should be okay. All that artificial energy will crash quickly, and then she’ll want to come in and rest.

“Grimm, do you think it’s more than just a fever?”

“You mean a relapse?”

Summer nodded. “This is how it started, when she was three. Did you tell the doctors about it?”

“Yeah. They said the symptoms aren’t lining up. There’s fever, but they can’t see any skin damage at all.”

Summer breathed, leaned back. “Thank goodness, it’s not kosten. I just hope her fever goes down.”

“The drugs should take care of that. After she gets some rest, she’ll be as good as new.”

I finished my lemonade, and then went out with Summer.

Muriel was sitting in a small patch of grass on the side of the house, blowing bubbles and laughing with Sari.

Summer called, “Time to come in, Saraya.”

“But Mom, we’re having too much fun.”

“I know. But maybe Muriel can come back tomorrow.”

“Okay.” She handed the bubbles to Muriel. “You can keep them if you bring them back next time.”

Muriel took the bottle of bubbles. With her white dress blowing in the wind, she looked like a little girl herself, young, innocent, free.

We said goodbye, and Muriel waved to Summer and Sari. On the way back, I thought that maybe going to town had been a good idea after all.

We snuck into the studio, and I was congratulating myself on making it without being caught. I even considered bringing Muriel back to the town again.

But someone was waiting for us. Stace.

She rose from the couch, a storm brewing in her eyes.