INCUBUS.
Estlin’s laughter might have irritated him, once, but his energy had been drained completely now. He was not broken, not yet, but he had put everything into his testimony against Estlin — a lawyer out for blood who had documented everything, who could describe in detail every crime they had committed together, who could harshly and precisely defame Estlin’s character. He could not reduce his sentence, but he damn well sure that Estlin rotted beside him. After all, he had promised him. Even after he had broken his promise, even after he had cut James off, James could still seize what was rightfully his. So he did, and here they were. And now that they were, James didn’t know how to proceed. “Well, for whatever reason,” he decided to say, tartly, “I can’t seem to get it out of my system.” It was a far reach from the beaches of Mars, that was for certain, and he could only scoff at the other’s words. “Is that your directive? Ought I to sleep with a guard?”
“How boring, darling,” said Estlin, his voice flat, his expression unenthused. “I hadn’t invested so much in you only to see you like this.” He had no use for people who wallowed in their misery, if he still had any use for James at all. What was to be gained here, for example? What kind of use can he suck dry from his former tool that he can’t do himself? For Estlin, all his willpower and focus was set on getting himself out of here—and so, too, could be said of his family back in Jupiter (or so he would assume). For that purpose, however, he saw little use for the man who stood in front of him, if only because there was no use currying favour with small fry when it was the corporation itself that he had to focus on. This was, perhaps, why he was so surprised at James’ last remark, not predicting that the other would take his final jab so seriously. “You do what you want,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, already looking away as if physically looking for an exit to the conversation. “I had assumed that our professional relationship was over and done with, with how gleefully you seemed to burn all bridges in the court sessions. Was my assumption wrong, then? Am I to be your master still, even in this infernal place?” A scoff here would not have been amiss, but he held on to the monotone that he had been using.
