by Cary Caffrey
The men glanced at each other. The youngest of them reached out, but the big man pushed him aside, jostling to get his hands on Sigrid first. He leaned forward, his hands reaching for her, his eyes glued to the soft, inviting flesh of her thighs.
Sigrid shifted her weight, allowing the nightgown to ride up even more. All she needed was for him to move a little closer, and then she'd—
The truck ground to a halt, and the rear doors were thrown open. Eight men, all of them armed, clambered up into the truck. They weren't soldiers, but there was something about the way they were dressed that struck Sigrid as familiar.
They shoved her captors aside, even knocking the big man to the floor. One of them carried a long pole. He shoved this through the loops of Sigrid's bindings. Without a word, two pairs of strong hands grabbed hold of the pole, hoisting Sigrid from the ground and carrying her from the truck like a pig on a spit.
"Her, too," one of them said, pointing to Nuria.
"That wasn't the deal," the big man said. "We're keeping her."
"Fryer says we take her, so we take her."
There was some arguing and jostling, but in the end the armed men with their guns won over the goons with the stun-sticks, and Nuria was dragged from the truck.
Good, Sigrid thought. At least here she could keep an eye on her, even if she couldn't exactly do anything to help her herself.
Outside, they dropped Sigrid face down in the mud. She did her best to slither around, trying to catch a glimpse of her surroundings. The truck was parked on a muddy patch of road somewhere deep in what looked like a forest. Tall trees stood on every side of them. Sigrid could detect no other sounds of traffic. It was only just growing light, so wherever they were, they couldn't have come too far from the Crossroads.
With Nuria being shepherded behind them, Sigrid was hoisted again on the pole, carried along, face down. The bindings of her wrists and ankles cut deep into her skin, and her chin and stomach kept dragging along the ground. She was filthy and sodden within fifty paces, not that her captors seemed to care. They carried her deeper into the woods, walking tirelessly for several kilometers.
With all the bouncing and jostling, it was difficult to keep her head up, but Sigrid did her best, determined to take in every detail she could, marking their paces and direction.
They finally came to a halt at the top of an embankment. Down below, she saw what looked like a narrow river basin. Most of the trees had been bulldozed and burned away. This had been done to make room for what waited for them now.
"Shit," Sigrid said. "You have got to be kidding."
For there, nestled in the hollow and hidden from prying eyes by the hills on either side, was a ship. And not just any ship. It was a freighter, and a rather grand one at that. Sigrid saw the distinctive gold and red piping running the length of her 150-meter hull. She would recognize those markings anywhere.
"Merchantmen," Sigrid rasped. "I hate those guys."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Pirate King
"Merchantmen," Sigrid said again, cursing.
It was a fitting end to the night. Sigrid didn't need to wonder what they wanted with her. The Merchantmen might call themselves traders, but Sigrid knew the truth: they were pirates. They were pimps and slavers, scum of the worst kind. And after their last encounter on Konoe Station, where she'd destroyed their flagship and killed its crew along with their commander, Corbin Price, she didn't doubt they had something particularly unwholesome planned for her.
Two beefy sailors carried her between them as they scrambled down the embankment toward the freighter. Sigrid had a better view of the ship from here. The incredible weight of the 150-meter vessel had driven the landing pylons deep into the loose shale of the riverbed. The ventral hull sat firmly on the rocks, if slightly off kilter. In fact, the entire ship sat at a pronounced angle. Tendrils of oak leaf grape ivy covered a good portion of the portside hull, while a family of blue honeycreepers had taken roost next to the reactor housing.
This Merchantman freighter had been stuck here for some time, and it wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. They were marooned here, just like her.
A lower portal slid open at the base of the hull and Sigrid was carried inside. Getting her through the narrow airlock proved cumbersome and she was treated to some rough treatment as the sailors dragged her along the deck plates. Once inside, she was dumped unceremoniously to the floor. Sigrid watched as a grizzled sailor counted out several bills and handed them to the big man. He stuffed the money in his pants, turned and left, without a word.
"You're not joining us?" she called after him. The man snarled something, which Sigrid chose to ignore, and the airlock portal sealed shut behind them.
Sigrid rolled onto her side and looked up. The sailor's unsmiling face sneered down at her.
Merchantmen didn't wear uniforms, so she had no idea if this man were the captain or his cabin boy, but he seemed to be in charge. At least for the moment.
"You must be Fryer. Permission to come aboard?"
"Joke while you can, Ms. Novak. You won't be laughing much longer."
Two burly sailors reached down and hoisted her from the ground.
"No," she muttered. "I don't suppose I will."
~ - ~
For a ship this large, the narrow corridors were all but empty. There were none of the familiar sounds of shipboard life. More than grounded, the ship was a near derelict. The few skeleton crew they passed stepped to the sides, making way as the sailors hauled Sigrid along.
"I'm so sorry," Nuria said between shoves, doing her best to keep hold of the broken strap of her nightdress. "This is all my fault. I never should have—"
"It's all right, Nuria," Sigrid said. She was hanging upside down now, as one of the sailors had chosen to hoist her by the hobbles of her ankles. He had her draped over his immense shoulder as he climbed the ladder to the deck above. "We'll get out of this. I promise."
Rather than taking her to the brig, as Sigrid suspected, they took her directly to the captain's quarters. The suite was spacious—generous, for a spacefaring vessel, where space was at a premium—though it was jammed from floor to ceiling with what could only be described as booty. All manner of plunder was on display. Paintings. Sculptures. A safe brimming with currencies from across the Federation sat open, its collection of coins spilling onto the ground. Over in a corner, a particularly lurid bronze statue, complete with a working water feature, sat gurgling and splashing. And in the center of it all sat the ship's master.
Her PCM found and confirmed his identity instantly—not difficult considering the number of outstanding warrants for unpaid brokerage levies held against him. His name was Thuan Lai. He was a thin wisp of a creature. And he was old. Good lord, he had to be at least a hundred and thirty, if a day. He was dressed in a long áo giao lĩnh, a long, cross-collared robe that, like his grounded ship, had definitely seen better days; the dark blue fabric had been patched more than once, and the gold brocade down the lapels was frayed and fading.
Three young girls sat at his side. The youngest couldn't have been more than thirteen. Two of them sat clinging to his thin arms, drenched in a narcotic haze, while the youngest tended to his pedicure.
The girls were wianbu, or comfort girls, as the Merchantmen preferred to call them. These were girls—and often boys—either stolen from their homes or enticed by the promise of a life of leisure and riches, free from the factories, only to find themselves trapped in a form of sexual servitude. A steady diet of narcotics ensured their compliance. When that failed, Sigrid knew there was always the whip.
When one of the girls reached for the tray of pills and powders at his side, Lai slapped her hand away.
"Not now, Hien. We have guests!"
At the word "guests," the sailor holding Nuria shoved her forward. The one carrying Sigrid dropped her to the floor. With the toe of his boot, he rolled her toward the dais. Sigrid found herself looking up at the ancient pirate, who smiled down at her.
<
br /> "So glad you could join us, Ms. Novak. I do hope you can forgive the manner in which I brought you here, but I wasn't sure if you could fit us into your busy schedule."
"Nonsense," Sigrid said. "I was hoping to take a cruise sometime. Where are we headed?"
Lai smiled, as if pleased with her answer. "Indeed. But I'm sure you've already surmised that this ship isn't going anywhere in its present condition."
Sigrid craned her neck, looking about. "Oh, it's not so bad. A little paint, some elbow grease, I'm sure we can get her up and running in no time."
The merchantman sat back and chuckled; it was a grating, tittering cackle that made Sigrid wince.
"I can't tell you what a pleasure it is to meet you," he said. "You are indeed everything my compatriot said." He sat back, letting his eyes linger across the length of her body, all the while twirling the thin wisps of his long mustache. "Everything…and more."
"Sir." Sigrid allowed her voice to drop into a low register. "I do believe you're going to make me blush, Mr. Lai."
"You know of me? I am even more intrigued, Ms. Novak."
"But of course! A man of your reputation? There's not a man or woman from here to Vincenze Station who has not heard of the master merchant of the trade ways!" Sigrid attempted a bow of her head—which proved more difficult to pull off, lying on her side and hobbled by the choke harness. Gagging twice, she continued. "And how is your dear friend Mr. Price?" she asked, in reference to the merchantman she had killed on Konoe Station. "Oh… Do forgive me. He is dead. For a moment, I forgot."
Lai sat forward, waving a cragged finger at her. "Do not test me, Ms. Novak. I am not a man to be trifled with. While I am pleased to enjoy your company, I have not forgotten what you did on Konoe Station."
"If you're expecting me to apologize, you can forget it."
Then, he sat back, his moment of anger forgotten, if only for the moment. "Why, nothing of the sort. We Merchantmen are not men of violence. We are traders of goods. Corbin Price knew the risks when he approached you. Or if he didn't, he was a fool. I could no more fault you for killing him than I could blame a cornered viper for striking. His death was the price of his failure. You gave him exactly what he deserved. Does my answer surprise you?"
Sigrid had to admit, it did. "A little. So, if you didn't drag me here to kill me, then why all the cloak and dagger? Wait. Let me guess. You're going to make me an offer I can't refuse. You want me to come work for you. Maybe a little wetwork? Take out the competition for you? That can be arranged, Mr. Lai. Though, I should warn you, if you want me to kill the marquis di Valparaíso, two people have already asked."
"I have little interest in the affairs of the marquis," he said, and not without some disdain.
"All right, then who?"
The merchantman chuckled again. "Like you, I am a prisoner here. The CTF has sealed off access to orbit. Warp travel has been denied us. There is only one penalty for violating their airspace. Death. Even if I could get this ship out of the mud, the CTF would annihilate us before we reached the thermosphere."
"I could talk to them," Sigrid said. "If you think it would help."
"Actually…" Lai was grinning at her and steepling his fingers. "That is precisely what I had in mind."
Sigrid swallowed and cursed, for she knew exactly why the pirate had brought her here. "You're after my bounty. You're going to turn me in to the CTF. All this, for money."
"Do not be disappointed, Ms. Novak. You are worth far more to me than mere coin. But we are Merchantmen! Traders of the stars! And we have been put to ground here far too long. After these many years trapped, the authorities have promised to let us leave—if we turn you over to them."
"I don't suppose there's any chance you can take me with you?"
Thuan Lai grinned and bowed fully to her. "As tempting as having you at my side might be, I'm afraid that is impossible. You will be handed over to the CTF in short order. But for the moment, you are my guest and I am your host, and it is a poor host indeed who fails to accommodate his guests." Snapping his fingers, Lai signaled to the two sailors at his side. "You. You. Take her to the pit."
"The pit?" Sigrid asked as the sailors hoisted her to their shoulders. "I don't suppose that's some charming Merchantman sobriquet for a stateroom or parlor? No?"
The ancient pirate flashed her a withering smile. "Enjoy your stay, Ms. Novak. There'll be no escaping us this time. Take her away! Seal her in!"
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Hold
Two crewmen carried Sigrid down to the lower decks, deep into the bowels of the freighter and to the darkest and most foul of the freighter's holds. One of the sailors thumbed a switch and wide cargo doors ground noisily aside. Below loomed a darkened chasm, dripping wet and stinking of mold and waste.
"I don't suppose we can talk about this?"
The two sailors carrying her swung her once, twice, before tossing her in. Bound and unable to protect herself, Sigrid found herself freely tumbling down only to land hard on the soiled deck plates some six meters below. The landing knocked the wind from her. She couldn't help herself and she cried out, startling a mischief of rats, who scurried away to hide amongst the shadows.
Flexing her jaw—which had taken the brunt of the landing—and thoroughly fed up with being tossed around like a sack of rice, Sigrid rolled onto her side to glare up at her captors. Fryer, the ship's first mate, stared right back down at her. He shook his head in disgust.
"All too easy."
"You sound disappointed," Sigrid said.
"I just can't see what all the fuss is about."
"I'd be happy to show you. Why not come down here? I'll make it worth your while."
Fryer grinned. "I'm no fool, girl. You'll rot in there until the CTF comes for you."
Fryer put his hand on the portal, ready to seal it shut.
"Wait!" She knew she couldn't let him seal her in. She had to keep him talking. "You're no fool, Fryer. I can see that. But you're also a businessman, aren't you? You…Merchantmen, you're always looking for a deal?"
"I already have a deal." Fryer chuckled. "One-point-eight-five billion in adjusted Federated dollars and a trip off this blasted rock."
"Perhaps I can offer you a better one? You know what I did to the last band of Merchantmen who crossed my path? I blew up their ship—with them in it. I wouldn't want to see the same thing happen to you."
Fryer studied her for a moment, looking her up and down—or more side to side in her present case. "You're in no position to make threats."
"It's no threat, Fryer. It's a legitimate business offer. Untie me and I'll spare you. I'll let you live. All of you." Sigrid narrowed her eyes. "I won't make this offer again."
Fryer withdrew a thin cigar from a case in his coat pocket. The spark of the match flared in the darkness, illuminating his face, if only for an instant. For a moment she thought he might actually be considering her offer, but then he tossed the burning match at her. Sigrid heard it fizzling as it flew through the air, and she flinched, more from instinct than from pain, as the mixture of hot phosphorus and potassium chlorate hit the bare skin of her arm.
"Nice try," Fryer said. "But I see little profit in letting you go. We have you, girl, and I expect I shall be paid handsomely for it."
"Fryer, I—"
But there would be no more bargaining. The first mate turned his back as the steel portal slammed shut, though not before Nuria was tossed down after her. She fell through the opening, falling the six meters and landing awkwardly. Her legs buckled under her and she hit the deck hard, crying out in pain.
"Nuria!"
Sobbing, crying, Nuria lay crumpled where she'd fallen in an oily puddle. She didn't turn to Sigrid. She couldn't—or perhaps she wouldn't. The Merchantmen had kept her bound. Her wrists were tied with heavy plastic binders behind her back, along with several coils wrapped around her chest, strapping her arms to her torso. Only her feet and ankles were free.
"It's going to be all
right, Nuria. We're going to get out of this."
Brave words, Sigrid thought, though they sounded hollow even to her. If they were going to escape, she didn't have a clue how.
Sigrid glanced up and around at their surroundings. It was damp and dripping and completely dark. The cargo doors were shut and pressure sealed. The only light came from a grated and glassed-in porthole in the ceiling; an armed sailor walked back and forth patrolling above, his boots clanking on the metal floor.
Escaping the hold wasn't the problem. It was the blasted plastic binders they'd tied her with. Here she was, trained to hack her way in, or out of, the most secure facilities in the Federation, she could tear through metal, even bend steel, yet she could do absolutely nothing about a few simple strands of plastic. The irony was not lost on her.
Brute force wasn't going to serve her. Not here. And she doubted the crew would stand by and watch as she tried to roll herself out of here either. She needed to find another way, and she needed to find it fast.
There was one thing working in her favor, one stroke of blind luck: this freighter wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. The ship was stuck in the riverbed and it looked as though it had been for some time. There didn't seem to be more than a handful of crew aboard, and the few crew she'd passed in the corridors hardly seemed up to the task of relaunching her. So if the Merchantmen couldn't bring Sigrid to the Council forces, then that could only mean one thing: The CTF was on its way here.
But when? In an hour? A day? A week? Sigrid had no intention of waiting around to find out.
Rolling over, she glanced back at Nuria. Huddled in a damp corner, her torn nightdress hung loose off her shoulder. Her head was slumped on her chest and her hair hung forward, shielding her face. From Sigrid? Probably. It was obvious Nuria blamed herself for all of this.
And she was trembling. Nuria was shivering, and quite violently. Her breath misted in the damp air with each of her ratcheted sobs. It was only then Sigrid realized how cold it was. The chill would never bother her; she was designed to withstand the harshest of environments, but Nuria didn't have the luxury of her enhanced resistance to the cold. She was freezing.
