by Kyle, Celia
And Varia as well, who allowed herself to be sold ahead of time so she could find Fiona. How Solair is remaining as calm as he is seems to be a testament both to his nerves of steel and the confidence he has in his fated mate. Varia is one tough customer. A former soldier, she can take care of herself.
Inside the building, we’re informed that the next round of auctions will commence shortly. In the meantime, we are shown to a cantina conveniently located in the center of the square structure with a high arched ceiling and elegant décor, which has fallen into somewhat of a state of disrepair. Sapients of various species, mostly League races but some from the Alliance and Coalition worlds as well, sit about the cantina, some of them attended by their recent purchases.
We seat ourselves at a table in the corner so we may watch the entire room with ease. Thrase starts to pull out one of the chairs for herself, but Zander slaps her across her cheek—very, very gently, I might add. Barely more than a light touch, but it looks good.
“Do not presume to seat yourself with the free people, wench.” He offers her a wink to let her know he’s only playing in character. Thrase seemed shocked by the slap—though I know it didn’t hurt—but quickly plays along. I almost think she’s enjoying playing Zander’s toy on a string. She quickly kneels on the floor next to Lamira, quivering with faux fright.
They bring us wine—weak, watered-down wine that I wouldn’t serve to my worst enemy, but at least it’s chilled—and we drink while taking in the room.
“Solair.” Grantian leans on his elbows and puts his hooded face close to our captain’s. “Have you received word from Varia yet?”
“Not yet, no.” He shakes his head.
“Perhaps they have discovered her hidden transmitter?”
“No, it has a failsafe that would have notified me of such.” Solair grins. “Try to look like you’re having a good time, Montier. You’re making us stick out like a sore toe.”
“Thumb, you ignoramus.”
Zander glares down at Thrase and yanks on her leash firmly.
“What was that, slave?”
“Nothing, master.” Thrase puts her head on top of his boot. “Please don’t punish me, master. I’ll be a good girl. I promise.”
Poor Zander. He shifts in his seat, no doubt battling the dual bulges in his trousers.
“I don’t see any of the mercs we encountered before. Do you, Solair?”
He shakes his head, sipping lightly at his weak wine.
“No. I suppose a bunch of armed, pretend IHC marines and Kraaj mercenaries would draw too much attention to what Blue Dawn is really up to on this planet.”
“The League should be informed of this travesty.” Grantian glares about the room. “This world is far too close to our borders for my comfort.”
“Mine as well, old friend.” Solair nods in his direction. “But one thing at a time.”
We pause in our conversation as two burly, ridge-faced Vakutans saunter up to our table. One of them leans over and puts his arms on the surface, coincidentally on purpose spilling my drink onto my lap.
“We don’t like your kind…”
The poor fool. I’ve been looking for an excuse. My hands, which had been folded on the table before me, suddenly snap out to either side, connecting with his wrists and making him lose his balance. His face slams down onto the table with shuddering force, and then I grab the back of his neck and pound it several more times for good measure.
As he slips, bloodied and dazed, to the stone floor, his fellow goes for the hooked knife at his belt. But I stand up, grabbing his wrist and slamming the top of my head under his chin. He makes a gurgling noise and topples over.
The other patrons, at first startled by the sudden tumult, go right back to their drinks. Apparently this sort of thing is quite common here.
“Settle down, Montier. Don’t make a scene. Fiona will be fine.”
At his words, I sit back down. It’s not long before a pendant on Solair’s bracelet begins to flash with a subtle blue hue.
“That’s our cue. Time to roll, ladies and gentlemen.”
I’m ready to roll, but I have no intention of being a gentleman about it.
Chapter Nineteen
Fiona
“Varia?” I shake my head in disbelief as she straightens up to her full height and tosses the rest of her dirty hair out of her face. “How in the world did you end up here? I take it my message got through?”
“It got through, all right.” She favors me with a grin. Our fellow captives gape in astonishment. “Grantian used his contacts from his mercenary days to locate the nearest body merchant auction. Turns out it was right here on Perseus all along.”
“But—but how did you end up here?”
“Solair ‘sold’ me to a merchant on consignment, guaranteeing I’d be put up for auction on this particular block. Don’t worry, I’ve come prepared.”
She turns around and faces the wall, peering back over her shoulder for a moment.
“Watch out for guards while I extract my equipment.”
“Equipment?” I turn to watch the door as I hear her grunting with discomfort behind me. “What equipment? You’re wearing the same sleazy crap I am. How did you sneak anything into this cell?”
“How do you think? In my women’s prison wallet.”
I grimace at that thought. Couldn’t have been the least bit comfortable, though I praise her strategy.
“Okay, got it.” She turns back around, holding a small silver sphere in her hand. Varia twists it, the upper and lower hemispheres moving against each other, and it begins to flash blue. “That’s the signal sent. Now let’s see if Grantian’s contacts paid off again.”
“Bet Solair will want to smell that transponder when you’re done here,” I say with a smile.
“Honey, you have no idea,” Varia says with a smile. “He’ll probably also be jealous that something else was all up in there.”
Varia moves to the far wall and starts feeling about the clay with her fingertips. Eventually she stops and picks at it with her fingernails until she’s dug out enough of the red clay to reveal a line of twine or rope. She gives the rope a tug, and it peels away from the wall in a rectangular shape, revealing a hidden compartment.
“Right where it’s supposed to be.” Varia reaches inside the aperture, getting clay on her arms and face, and then extracts a small hand-held plasma cutter. “It pays to have friends in low places sometimes.”
“Is it just you? I mean, us?”
“Nope.” Varia smiles widely. “The whole team is here, minus Swipt who’s got the Queen on standby, ready to take off at a second’s notice.”
“The whole team? Does that mean Montier as well.”
“What do you think?” Varia puts her hand on my bare shoulder. “He’s not the type to let his fated mate go unrescued for long.”
She whistles and shakes her head.
“Oh my god, you should have seen him carrying on when we were on the bridge and Solair refused to come back to Perseus. They nearly came to blows.”
“Really?” I wince, knowing I shouldn’t be gratified, but there’s a certain thrill in knowing a man will blacken an eye for your honor. “I never would have thought he’d do something like that.”
“It was something else, I’ll tell you that. Grantian and Swipt combined couldn’t drag him off the bridge. If Solair hadn’t agreed to his plan, I don’t know what would have happened.”
“His plan?” I brighten up. “Then this is all Montier’s doing?”
“Most of it. I came up with the idea of infiltrating the auction disguised as a piece of merchandise, but the rest of it comes from him. Simply put, we’re going to rescue the women who are facing auction, rob the slavers, and get the hell out of here while making a tidy profit.”
“Leave it to a pirate to figure out a way to make money during a rescue op.”
Varia bends at the waist and uses the cutter to free herself of the ankle manacle. Then she turns the blu
e-hot arc onto my own restraints, freeing me as well.
“What are you doing?” The golden-skinned woman gapes as Varia frees her as well.
“I’m cutting all of us loose.” She faces the other women with a determined smile. “I know a lot of you are scared, but if this plan is going to succeed, we need all of your help. All we have to do is cause enough trouble for the slavers to keep them distracted until the cavalry arrives in full.”
“Cavalry?”
“Space pirates. It’s not as scary as it sounds. They’re actually kind of sweet.”
Varia moves down the line, cutting the chains of the other prisoners as I keep watch at the barred door. Once they’re all loose, she turns the arc welder on the door to our cell itself.
She cuts through the hasp and tears the handle off before reaching inside and triggering the mechanism. The door pops open, and she leads us out into the corridor. We find ourselves in a hallway containing a dozen doors leading to cells similar to our own.
“Keep watch while I free the next batch.”
“Copy that.” There are no weapons to be had, but I snatch up a half-empty metal flagon of wine and feel its heft. The tapered neck of the bottle makes a good handhold, and the copper bottom is plenty heavy enough to do some serious damage.
Varia takes only moments to free the first cell of prisoners, but it seems like an agonizingly long time when we’re constantly expecting a goon to burst into view at any moment.
She frees one cell, then another, and soon the hallway is teeming with more than a dozen newly freed would-be slaves. Many of them clutch bits of chain, stones, and any improvised weapon they can find. They all seem not only willing to fight our way out, but down right eager for the opportunity.
Then it happens, what I’ve been dreading. A Kraaj guard, stripped to the waist to display his many crimson tattoos, enters the hallway carrying an armful of chains. He glances up and spies a multitude of his former captives facing off against him.
“What are you doing? Get back in your cells, immediately.”
He puffs up his chest, his tone brimming with confidence—or should I say arrogance—that belies his situation. But the women don’t cow. We move forward as one.
“Stop. Get back in your cells, I say. Get back…”
With a shout, one of the captives hurls a severed manacle through the fetid air, one side melted to ruin by the arc cutter. It strikes him on the bridge of his nose, and he stumbles back, dropping his chains on the floor.
Encouraged by the initial attack, the rest of the captives surge ahead, quickly overwhelming the massive sapient with a rain of blows from fists, feet, chains, and stones. He falls under the assault, and they swarm over him.
Varia looks on grimly, making no attempt to encourage the women to show mercy. They’ve been beaten, bedraggled, spat upon, and made to serve their captors’ every twisted whim. All that pent-up anger is exploding on this poor sap, and I can’t say he doesn’t have it coming.
Even after he’s obviously expired, they continue to pummel him until his face looks like raw ground meat and his limbs are blackened, twisted ruins. Someone snatches up his cudgel and holds it up like a trophy, and then they surge ahead as one, an angry mob with nothing to lose and everything to gain.
“That was…that was savage.”
“That was karma.” Varia sneers. “Come on, let’s set the rest of the girls free and look for the others from the Queen. This battle isn’t over yet.”
We cut open the next door, and this time the women, aware of what’s transpiring in the hall, are ready and waiting. They hold their chains up to be sundered by Varia’s glowing blue instrument. It’s a dangerous thing when you give hope to the hopeless, particularly for those who took their hope away in the first place.
“Do we have room for so many passengers on the Queen, Varia?”
“Yes we do, albeit temporarily. Solair plans to drop them off at a space port in Kilgar, which is within League territory and therefore a place where slavery is outlawed. Don’t worry, Fiona, we’ve thought this one through every contingency.”
For the sake of our fellow captives, not to mention our own, I hope she’s right.
Chapter Twenty
Montier
We move as one through the crowd.
A few of the patrons grumble ostensibly, already tired of waiting. Apparently, the auction was already supposed to be underway, but something must be causing a delay. So far, so good.
Elbowing a few loud Vakutans out of the way, I push my way toward the counter at the end of the room. The bartender, a beefy human with a scraggly beard, eyes our little group warily. He grabs a flask of that awful concoction he calls wine and then pushes it across the counter toward us.
“There ya go,” he says. “You didn’t need to bring everyone here just so you could order another—”
“This is Perseus’ Port Authority,” Solair says, cutting the man short. Reaching inside his pocket, he brings up a fake ID badge and flashes it in front of the man’s face quickly enough to confuse him. The bartender frowns, taking in the scene more carefully now. We’re Kilgari, and we have two fake slaves in tow. We don’t look remotely close to anyone who would be a Port Authority officer, and he’s quick to pick up on that.
Unfortunately for him, we couldn’t care less.
“Hang on, that doesn’t make any sense at—”
“Port fucking Authority,” I say, loudly enough for anyone in the room to hear us. “Comply or be arrested.” That should buy us some time. Even though we don’t look the part, few people would dare mess with a Port Authority officer, especially when they were about to partake in an unsanctioned auction. Even now, I notice a few people at the back sneaking out of the auction house, probably anticipating a full-blown raid by the district authorities.
Ducking under the counter, I grab the man’s arm and twist it under his back. I kick the service door open and then drag him into the storage room, kegs of Vakutan ale stacked up all the way to the ceiling.
“What the hell is this about?” the bartender continues. “We’ve paid what you guys told us to pay, and now you come here to make a scene. Do you know who’s organizing this?”
“Do we look like we give a fuck?” Pushing the bartender to the floor, Solair looks around for something he can use; once he finds a few ragged cloths lying around, he ties the man’s wrists with them.
“You’re not Port Authority. Are you?”
“Your intelligence is astounding,” Thrase says, her snarky tone in full display. “You must let me pick your brain one of these days. A man of such brilliance is a rare thing this side of the galaxy.” For good measure, she gives the man a hard kick between the legs. “That’s for being a part of this bullshit operation.”
“Focus, everyone.” Holding one hand up, Solair looks around the room, taking in each and every one of us with his gaze. “Time is of the essence. According to Grantian’s contact, the holding area is close, so Montier and I will be on our way. Does everyone know what they have to do?”
“We head back there, feed the patrons some bullshit, and keep the place under control,” Grantian answers without missing a beat. “Easy enough. Just don’t take long because if these guys out there connect the dots and realize we’re the farthest thing from Port Authority…”
“Yes, they won’t be happy.” Looking at me, Solair gives me a nod. “Let’s move.”
Following him, I cross the length of the storage room and watch as he tries to open the door there. It’s locked, and so Solair gives me a little wave and steps out of the way. One swift kick and the door swings back on its hinges, splinters of wood flying everywhere as the lock falls apart.
We slip into the corridor up ahead, a narrow and steep stairway at the end of it, and exchange a knowing glance as a raucous sound drifts from the lower floor. It sounds like there’s an angry swarm of wasps down there.
“Damn, sounds like a riot.”
“Varia is doing her part,” I say and th
en place one hand on Solair’s shoulder. “Fate has given you a worthy mate.”
Nodding, Solair clears his throat.
“Listen, about what happened on the Queen’s bridge, I—”
“You don’t need to say a word,” I cut him short. “I was way out of line. I should’ve trusted you. You have my loyalty…Captain.” Then, looking past him, I point at the stairway. “Shall we?”
“Lead the way.”
We run down the stairs into the holding area, and we’re both taken by surprise as we burst into the chaos there. A lot of women have gathered in the open space between the cells, and all of them are wearing skimpy clothes. I count at least three Kraaj mercenaries sitting at the center of the room, two of them unconscious. They’ve been tied up and gagged, and one of them has a nasty cut on his forehead. They seem pretty banged up, but that doesn’t surprise me.
These women look angry.
Suddenly, I notice a shadow moving out of the corner of my eye, and I duck just in time to avoid being hit by a flying brick. Turning around, I notice a group of women heading my way, all of them brandishing thick metal pipes and heavy-looking bricks. The expressions on their faces tells me they mean business.
“Calm down,” I hear a voice say, and my heart immediately tightens inside my chest as I recognize its owner. “These guys are our ride out of here. They came to rescue us. Stand down.”
Looking over the mob of angry women, I notice Fiona’s blonde head bobbing as she cuts her way toward me. Pushing two women aside, she bursts into the open space where I stand. She freezes in her tracks, her lips a thin white line, and then I notice the glint of tears in her eyes.
“You came for me,” she says and then crosses the distance between us, launching herself at me. Closing my eyes, I wrap my arms around her body and pull her against my chest. I take in a deep breath, her scent enough for me to finally feel some relief, and then lay my lips against her forehead.
