Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“But—” Mistress Bittlebum began.
“Speak one more word and I’ll hold you in contempt of court!” Judge Thoughtgood said sharply. She turned her attention to Imani, who had paused the recording, which was playing out in the clear space in the middle of the courtroom before the judge’s podium. “You may proceed with your evidence, Councilor.”
“Thank you, your Honor,” Imani said quietly. She stroked the ring again and the spy fly continued projecting.
She hadn’t intended to record any of the events of the night before. In fact, she’d forgotten all about the ring until she’d been undressing after they got back to the hotel. She’d been playing with it to distract her mind while J’are was passed out on the bed—his feral side apparently all worn out from bonding with her—when the spy fly had flown out and started projecting.
Imani had figured out how to work it and had been immensely surprised when she’d seen what it had recorded. Now she watched with satisfaction as Mistress Bittlebum’s entire confession of the murder of Lady Zangelo played out for the judge and all the rest of the court to see. Her recording might not be as lascivious and X-rated as the one Lady Bittlebum had played of Imani and J’are, but it was certainly much more incriminating.
The recording ended right after Mistress Bittlebum had locked them in the simulation room—for which Imani was grateful. She really didn’t want to have to watch herself and J’are having bonding sex again. It was too damn embarrassing!
After the spy fly stopped projecting and flew quietly back to its ring, there was dead silence in the courtroom. Finally, Judge Thoughtgood turned to Mistress Bittlebum, who had been getting redder and redder in the face as the recording played.
“Well, well—it would seem we have solved the murder of your very good friend,” she remarked, raising an eyebrow. “What do you have to say for yourself? You know the penalty for killing another Mistress is death.”
“Death, yes.” Mistress Bittlebum rose suddenly. She was stroking her lemon-yellow hair, which Imani now knew was a wig, in a reflective way. “Death, but not for me,” she said.
Turning to the three morphids she had sitting in a row beside her, she waved her hand over their antennae and shouted,
“Kill them—kill them all!”
Forty
The courtroom exploded into violence.
The morphids seemed to be everywhere. One bounded towards Judge Thoughtgood, only to be stopped by the bailiff, brandishing a blaster. But before she could get off a shot, the morphid closed its shiny pink, serrated mandibles around her neck and sawed off her head.
Blood fountained out of her neck and Imani had a moment to see the surprised look on the bailiff’s face as her head fell to the floor. Then she realized another morphid was headed in her direction.
She braced herself for impact but J’are was suddenly there, putting himself between her and the huge insect.
“No you fucking don’t!” he growled, his eyes blazing. “Stay way from my female you fucking bug!”
He gripped its two front legs, holding it back, but the morphid leaned forward, its serrated mandibles snapping in his face.
Imani’s heart was pounding and there was an acrid taste on the back of her tongue—the taste of fear. How long could the big Nightwalker hold the overgrown insect back? She couldn’t help remembering documentaries she’d seen before, about how ants could carry ten times their body weight. Were Praying Mantises that strong too?
J’are had fought one of these before, she reminded herself—on the first night she’d been here. But he had been in his feral state then and now he seemed to be still in his thinking mind. Would it make a difference?
“J’are,” she sent through their link. “Go feral if you have to!”
“No—I’m never going feral again.” His mental voice was filled with strain as he fought to keep the mandibles away from his neck. “I hurt you the last time I did. I’m locking that side of myself away forever!”
“J’are—”
She was interrupted by a scream from Judge Thoughtgood. The third morphid was stalking her, while the second one—the one that had ripped off the bailiff’s head—was fighting with the two Horvath guards who had rushed into the courtroom when they heard the struggle.
And standing beside the shocked Prosecutor, who was looking at the bloody scene in a daze, was Mistress Bittlebum. She was laughing and stroking her hair, Imani saw. It reminded her of a villain in an old silent movie laughing while he twirled his mustache.
Have to stop her—have to stop this! But how?
At that moment her attention was dragged to the morphid J’are was fighting with again. She felt a surge of pain and rage from the big Nightwalker through their link and saw, with horror, that the alien insect had managed to get its mandibles locked around his throat. In fact, the only thing that was keeping it from cutting off his head was the thick leather pain collar around his neck.