Wagers of Sin: Time Scout II by Robert Asprin, Linda Evans
Authors: Robert Asprin, Linda Evans
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almost dropped his glass, "-genr'ally it's fun, 'cause a' bureaucrats anna' damn arrogant tourists are a bunch a' idiots. Incomp'tent, careless idiots, don' even know wha's around 'em." He laughed a short, bitter laugh. "Let'm stay blind'n deaf 'n stupid. Keeps the money coming, don't it?'
He met Marcus' gaze with one that was almost steady, despite the appalling amount of whiskey he'd consumed.
"If no one else unnerstan's, so be it. 'S not their life t' live. 'S mine." He thumped his chest, staining a Greek chiton of exquisite cut and embroidery when the remaining whiskey in his glass sloshed across the garment and puddled in his lap. "Mine, yunnerstand. My life. And I ain't disappointed, Marcus. Not by much, I ain't."
When Skeeter began to cry as though his heart were breaking, Marcus had very gently taken the whiskey glass from his hand and guided him home, making sure he was safely in bed in his own apartment that night. Whether or not Skeeter recalled anything he'd said, Marcus had no idea. But Marcus remembered every word-even those he didn't quite understand.
When Marcus shared the precious story of Skeeter Jackson with Ianira, she held her beloved close in the darkness and made sacred promises to her Goddesses. They had given her this precious man, this Marcus who cherished not only Ianira herself, but also their beautiful, sloe-eyed daughters. They had given Ianira a man who actually loved little Artemisia and tiny little Gelasia, loved their cooing laugher and loved dandling them by turns on his knee and even soothing their tears, rather than ordering either beautiful child left on the street to die of exposure and starvation simply because she was female.
There in the sacred privacy of their shared bed, Ianira vowed to her Goddesses that she would do whatever lay in her power to guard the interests of the man who had given her beloved the means to discharge his debt of honor. When Marcus joined with her in the darkness, skin pressed to trembling skin, she prayed that his seed would plant a son in her womb, a son who would be born into a world where his father was finally a free man in his own soul. She called blessings on the name of Skeeter Jackson and swore a vow that others in the downtimer community would soon know the truth about the smiling, strange young man who made such a point to steal from the tourists yet never touched anything belonging to residents, and always treated downtimers with more courtesy than any 'eighty-sixer on the station, with the possible exceptions of Kit Carson and Malcolm Moore.
Ianira understood now many things that had been mysterious to her. All those cash donations, with no one taking responsibility for them ... Downtimers had a champion they had not dreamed existed. Marcus, not understanding why she wept in the darkness, kissed her tears and assured her in ragged words that he would prove himself worthy of the love she gave so freely. She held him fiercely and stilled his mouth with her own, vowing he had proven his worthiness a thousand times over already. His response brought tears to her eyes.
In the aftermath of their love, she held him while he slept and made plans that Marcus would neither understand nor approve. She didn't care. They owed a debt which was beyond profound; Ianira would repay it as best she could. And the only way she could think to do that was to further the fortunes of the man who had given Marcus the means to purchase back his sacred honor.
Ianira kissed Marcus' damp hair while he slept and made silent, almost savage, decisions.
CHAPTER FIVE
Wagers in La-La Land were big news. Essentially a closed environment for full-time residents, gossip and betting took the place of live television and radio programs, except for a couple of new on-terminal news programs run more like "gossip hour" than a real news broadcast. The Shangri-La Radio and Television Broadcasting system, an experimental outfit, to say the least, ran taped movies and canned music
He met Marcus' gaze with one that was almost steady, despite the appalling amount of whiskey he'd consumed.
"If no one else unnerstan's, so be it. 'S not their life t' live. 'S mine." He thumped his chest, staining a Greek chiton of exquisite cut and embroidery when the remaining whiskey in his glass sloshed across the garment and puddled in his lap. "Mine, yunnerstand. My life. And I ain't disappointed, Marcus. Not by much, I ain't."
When Skeeter began to cry as though his heart were breaking, Marcus had very gently taken the whiskey glass from his hand and guided him home, making sure he was safely in bed in his own apartment that night. Whether or not Skeeter recalled anything he'd said, Marcus had no idea. But Marcus remembered every word-even those he didn't quite understand.
When Marcus shared the precious story of Skeeter Jackson with Ianira, she held her beloved close in the darkness and made sacred promises to her Goddesses. They had given her this precious man, this Marcus who cherished not only Ianira herself, but also their beautiful, sloe-eyed daughters. They had given Ianira a man who actually loved little Artemisia and tiny little Gelasia, loved their cooing laugher and loved dandling them by turns on his knee and even soothing their tears, rather than ordering either beautiful child left on the street to die of exposure and starvation simply because she was female.
There in the sacred privacy of their shared bed, Ianira vowed to her Goddesses that she would do whatever lay in her power to guard the interests of the man who had given her beloved the means to discharge his debt of honor. When Marcus joined with her in the darkness, skin pressed to trembling skin, she prayed that his seed would plant a son in her womb, a son who would be born into a world where his father was finally a free man in his own soul. She called blessings on the name of Skeeter Jackson and swore a vow that others in the downtimer community would soon know the truth about the smiling, strange young man who made such a point to steal from the tourists yet never touched anything belonging to residents, and always treated downtimers with more courtesy than any 'eighty-sixer on the station, with the possible exceptions of Kit Carson and Malcolm Moore.
Ianira understood now many things that had been mysterious to her. All those cash donations, with no one taking responsibility for them ... Downtimers had a champion they had not dreamed existed. Marcus, not understanding why she wept in the darkness, kissed her tears and assured her in ragged words that he would prove himself worthy of the love she gave so freely. She held him fiercely and stilled his mouth with her own, vowing he had proven his worthiness a thousand times over already. His response brought tears to her eyes.
In the aftermath of their love, she held him while he slept and made plans that Marcus would neither understand nor approve. She didn't care. They owed a debt which was beyond profound; Ianira would repay it as best she could. And the only way she could think to do that was to further the fortunes of the man who had given Marcus the means to purchase back his sacred honor.
Ianira kissed Marcus' damp hair while he slept and made silent, almost savage, decisions.
CHAPTER FIVE
Wagers in La-La Land were big news. Essentially a closed environment for full-time residents, gossip and betting took the place of live television and radio programs, except for a couple of new on-terminal news programs run more like "gossip hour" than a real news broadcast. The Shangri-La Radio and Television Broadcasting system, an experimental outfit, to say the least, ran taped movies and canned music
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