by Jaleta Clegg
The flitter lurched into the air. I lay on my stomach, Thurwood's feet pressing on my back. I couldn't see where we were going. I closed my eyes and hoped Lowell could see where they were taking me.
The air affected the flitter. It ran rough, the engine choking. The air was thick and smelled rancid. I almost welcomed the cleaner smell of fuel and grease that permeated the floormat under my head. Thurwood didn't seem affected by any of it. I risked a glance up at him. He stared impassively out the window.
I sighed and put my face back on the filthy floormat. The engine rumbled under my cheek, vibrating heavily.
We flew for a while. The flitter lurched and descended. I closed my eyes, swallowing a lump of fear. The flitter bumped to a landing. The engine shut off.
Thurwood grunted and removed his feet from my spine. He grabbed my arm instead of my clothes and dragged me out of the flitter. He set me on my feet, his arm still holding me tightly.
We were in a courtyard. Rough stones paved it. Walls made of the same rough stone rose to a height of at least ten feet in front of me. The main gate was never opened to judge by the rust on the hinges. Thurwood dragged me around the flitter.
Walls shut in three sides of the courtyard. The fourth was blocked by a huge mansion. Windows lined the bottom floor. They were mirrored, or at least they had been at some time in the past. They were pitted and scarred, the finish deteriorated until only dim smudges of reflections showed on the surface.
A single panel of the glass slid aside, opening into a dark space. Thurwood pulled me forward then pushed me through the space. He let go of my arm. I stumbled three steps before tripping and sprawling on the floor.
It was soft carpet, pale beige in color. The lights in the room were dim, concealed somewhere in the ceiling. I saw chrome legs of furniture across the large room. I pushed myself up to my knees.
"Delivery for you," Thurwood announced.
"You were paid at the port," someone answered.
Thurwood shrugged and left.
I looked around and found the speaker. He was short and slender and vaguely familiar. He had blond hair, chopped into long spikes. His eyes were surrounded by heavy black circles. Makeup, not lack of sleep. He had a silver spike through his bottom lip. He sneered as the door slid shut. I heard the flitter taking off outside, though the glass muffled the sound.
Nothing else happened. The man sipped a drink that looked like engine coolant. The air in the room was cool and fresh, filtered through heavy-duty screens. I got off my knees. I stayed where I was as I looked the room over.
It was huge, at least sixty feet on a side. The ceiling had to have been nine feet up, but it felt lower because of the sheer size of the room. The light was dim, but more natural than the reddish glow of the sun outside. The carpet underfoot was soft on my bare feet. The wall of windows behind me were opaqued, letting in nothing of the outside.
Three sets of furniture floated like islands in the huge room. A kitchen area near where the man stood glimmered with chrome and glass and black shiny surfaces. Two couches of thin black leather and chrome frames flanked three matching chairs surrounding a fireplace of white blocks of stone set haphazardly in a stack. Flames danced in the space left open for them. Another seating area at the very back corner of the room consisted of two chairs and a short table made of glass. A staircase rose near the back of the room, looking like a floating twist of glass slabs. There was nothing else in the room. It was deathly quiet. I heard the man swallow as he sipped his drink.
I glanced at him, wondering if he was my new owner. He smiled, a bitter twist of his lips. He looked towards the staircase. His smile changed. His whole face changed. He looked innocent, almost. The bitterness was gone, wiped away. I knew I'd met him before, his face tugged at my memory. I couldn't make the connection.
The stairs creaked and I turned to look. An enormously obese woman descended the staircase, moving ponderously. Rolls of fat rippled over her body, hanging from her arms and jiggling around her middle, padding every inch of her. She was tall. Her hair was colored the same color as the plants outside, a dark brownish red that reminded me of dried blood and old scabs. Her lips were painted scarlet. Her eyes were carefully painted with shades of blue and purple. She would have been elegant if she had weighed a lot less.
She crossed the room one heavy step at a time, her eyes boring into me. She stopped an arm's length in front of me. She studied my face, her eyes a cold glittering blue. She lowered her gaze, studying every inch from my tangled hair to my bare feet. She raised her gaze to my face and slowly smiled. It wasn't friendly in the least. Her teeth were perfect white pearls.
"Dace," she drawled my name.
I shivered and didn't answer.
"You don't recognize me?" She lifted her arms and spun around ponderously. Her layers of fat rippled and bulged as she moved. Her shimmering dress didn't disguise any of it. She stopped when she was facing me again. It took a moment for her fat to quit jiggling. "I haven't changed that much, Dace. You aren't trying."
I stared at her face. She was familiar, somehow, something in the curve of her jaw, in the shape of her eyes. She smiled coldly and waited for me to make the connection. I thought of red satin and rubies. I glanced quickly at the man. His hair should have been waist length and curled. He lifted his glass in salute to me. He looked a lot older, a lot more used than he had before. The air of innocence was an act, a harder one to maintain. I turned back to the enormous woman. The memories finally came clear. I knew her. I was in more trouble than I could have imagined.
"Shomies," I said and felt my heart sink as she smiled. I had been hoping in vain that I was wrong.
"Say it, Dace, say my full name. I want to be sure you remember." She leaned closer, licking her artificially red lips.
"Shomies Pardui," I whispered.
"Louder," she said.
"Shomies Pardui," I said and couldn't help the note of despair in my voice.
"You aren't trying hard enough yet." She grabbed my face in one hand. Her nails were long, painted scarlet to match her lips. She dug them into my cheeks. "Take a good look, Dace. You did this to me."
She squeezed my face in her talons. Tears welled up from the pain. She smiled, satisfied for now. She let me go and stepped back.
"It's a genetic condition," she said. "As long as I received the treatments every year or so, everything was fine. The treatments weren't available in prison. Once the process begins to break down, once the enzymes are released, it's irreversible. Nothing can change what I've become." She raised her arms, allowing me a full view of her massive bulges of fat. "You did this to me, Dace. You are going to pay for every extra ounce."
I swallowed hard. This wasn't about revenge over something as insignificant as money or smuggling. This was personal. I'd cost her what she valued most. Shomies Pardui had been vain about her appearance. I'd destroyed that. Lowell had better hurry, before I was permanently maimed.
Shomies reached out one pudgy finger and ran it lightly over the collar I wore. "The Trythians had such brilliant ideas. It's been modified. I heard about your adventures with them. You won't escape this time. I won't make the mistake of underestimating you again."
She flipped the collar and smiled in satisfaction when I winced. She turned away, moving back towards the staircase. Blondie, I never did learn his name before, grabbed me and hustled me after her. He wasn't the least bit gentle.
Shomies stopped near the stairs. A small square behind the stairs lacked carpet. The floor was textured plascrete. A flat cushion and a ragged blanket had been tossed onto it. A single door hung open, revealing a very utilitarian bathroom.
"Welcome to your new home," Shomies said.
Blondie shoved me. I sprawled onto the bare plascrete. I heard a click and a hum. My collar tingled briefly. I rolled over.
"Don't think about it," Shomies said, waving a small black controller. "Or better yet, think about it all you want. You can even try escaping. There aren't any bars or chain
s here."
That made me wary. She had to have some way to keep me in that corner.
"Try anything you'd like. I want to see you in pain."
She laughed and turned away. Blondie's grin had a nasty edge. He followed her as she lumbered up the stairs. They creaked over my head.
I curled up, hunching into a miserable ball on the plascrete floor. I ran a finger over my collar. It would keep me in place, somehow. I couldn't find the courage to figure out how yet.
I wasn't going to escape. Shomies wanted me too badly. Death was going to be a long time coming.
I'd met Shomies years ago, on Dadilan. She'd been posing as a cultural researcher, smuggling Shara on the side. I thought it was just about money. Maybe it was. The kind of treatments she was talking about couldn't have come cheap. Genetic manipulation was illegal in most of the Empire, even if it was for treating inherited conditions. There were other treatments just as effective for most ailments. But not for hers, apparently.
I'd been the one to put her in prison. It was my testimony, my story, that had condemned her and several hundred others to long prison sentences. Somehow I wasn't surprised that she wasn't in prison anymore.
I curled up on the floor and prayed to whatever spirit was listening that Lowell would come soon, before she drove me over the edge of insanity.
Chapter 36
"Something has them stirred up at the port," Risha, the pilot, said. She glanced over her shoulder at Dreik.
"Nothing showing up on our passengers," Dreik said.
"I told you it wouldn't, not until next week at the earliest," Sikura said.
"And I told you and your friends to stay out of my cockpit," Dreik said.
"More Gypsy secrets?" Sikura asked. "We've all seen cockpits before and yours isn't anything special."
"It's more I'm tired of your sick sense of humor," Dreik said. "Get out."
Sikura stepped back, into the short hall that led past two cabins and into the galley of the ship. Herrison and Manson played dice on the floor in a corner. Linnea stood near the sink, twisting her hands nervously. Paltronis sat at the table, stripping and cleaning weapons. She glanced up at him.
"We are at Hawkmoor, as promised," Sikura said. "I got that much before Dreik kicked me out."
"Now the only question is whether we can find what we need here," Paltronis said.
Manson picked up the dice and rattled them in his hand. "Another transport?"
"Information first," Paltronis said. "You don't have to stay with me. This would be a good place to jump ship." She sent a pointed look at Linnea.
"We promised to help you," Sikura said. "We're still in Imperial territory. You've got the connections to get us out."
"And into even deeper trouble." Paltronis snapped the barrel back on the rifle she had just cleaned.
"You need help," Herrison put in. "You promised us action. Eventually. Since the Patrol wasn't going to let us see it again ever." He shrugged, his point made.
"You aren't getting rid of us that easily," Sikura said.
"This is personal, as I've told you repeatedly. I am not working for Lowell. This isn't going to get you a medal."
"And I said I believed you. You aren't going to dump us here, Paltronis."
"It might be best if you stayed." She lifted the reassembled rifle and sighted down the barrel. Sikura moved out of the line of fire. She set the rifle aside and picked up the next one.
The sound of atmosphere came faintly through the ship's hull. Linnea was the only one who looked up nervously.
"Don't say I didn't warn you," Paltronis said.
"Dreik's kicking us off here. What are your plans?" Sikura sat across from her, watching her wipe down the rifle parts. They gleamed with bluish oil.
"Find what ships are in port and then decide."
"And go where, Paltronis? Your friends are long gone from Tireo."
"Where do you suggest I go, Sikura? What do your friends tell you?"
"Lowell's gone. He walked out of his office and never came back. He's listed as a deserter. They posted a reward of half a million credits for his capture. I thought you might like to know."
Her hands froze on the rifle. "You couldn't have just learned that. You had to have found out at our last port, four days ago. Why didn't you say something?" Her voice was hard and flat.
"Because it was too dangerous on Heisenberg. If I'd told you, you would have done something stupid, like digging for more information. They were sniffing after you there."
"Then why wait until now to tell me?"
"You still work for him, don't lie to me. Where are you meeting him?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't play me for a fool, Paltronis. You arranged this a long time ago, months ago. He had it all planned."
"You're an idiot, Sikura. And I don't like idiots."
The ship landed, jarring them. The barrel of the rifle rolled off the table, landing on the floor with a dull clang.
"Then tell me the truth, Paltronis. What is your plan?"
"Leave her alone, doc," Manson said. "You agreed to follow her, you shut up and follow orders."
"That isn't the way it works, Manson," Sikura said. "Technically, I outrank her." He fixed cold eyes on Paltronis.
She snorted. "Don't try intimidating me." She let it drift off as Dreik's crew moved through the room. She snapped the rifle back together as Dreik entered.
"You're getting off here." He gave her a strange look, as if debating whether to tell her something or not.
"That was our agreement," Paltronis said. She collected her weapons, bundling them together. Manson and Herrison put the dice away and helped her. "How soon do you want us off?"
"Within the hour, if you can," Dreik said.
"Trouble?" Paltronis asked.
They all ignored Linnea's squeak.
"Possibly. There's a ship in port that usually spells trouble with a capital T."
Paltronis froze, a blaster half in the duffel. She pinned Dreik with a cold stare. "What ship?"
He studied her back. His fingers flipped in a complicated signal. She frowned, unable to catch the meaning. Dreik sighed.
"The only ship Shellfinder registers, flying under her own beacon. The Phoenix Rising is in port."
Paltronis laughed. She shook her head as she finished packing the blaster away. "Lady Fate smiles on us all sometimes." She stood, slinging the pack over her shoulder and gathering up two of the duffels. "Thanks for the lift, Captain Dreik."
"Don't come back soon." He stepped aside, letting her out of the galley.
Herrison and Manson followed her without hesitation, lugging the rest of the weapons. Sikura flapped his mouth a second before grabbing Linnea's hand and tugging her after them.
Paltronis paused only long enough for them to gather personal belongings from the cabin Dreik had cleared for them. She shifted her weight impatiently until they joined her on the landing field.
It was late night, two hours before dawn planet time. The port was mostly dark. She counted less than five people in the area, most yawning sleepily near the end of their shift. She looked over the field, at the ships. The familiar curve of the Phoenix rose not too far away. She only hoped someone would be awake when she arrived. She couldn't tell if there were lights near the ship or not.
"That should be it," Sikura said as he joined her, lugging two duffels. Linnea trotted behind him.
"Are you sure the two of you don't want to stay here?" Paltronis asked.
Linnea glanced at Sikura. "I'm going where he's going," she said firmly.
"And I already said I wasn't leaving."
"Because you're curious," Paltronis said. "You're as bad as some other people I know."
"All set," Manson said. Herrison was just behind him.
"Let's move," Paltronis said.
She led them across the field. One worker, high on a refueling crane, stared at them, watching them until they passed out of sight. She twitched h
er shoulders nervously.
They approached the Phoenix from the back. The cargo hatches were shadowed and dark. She gave the shadow plenty of room, skirting it to stay in the dim light of a nearby security pole. She wasn't surprised when someone stepped out of the shadow. She'd half expected it. She was surprised by who was standing watch at the back of the ship.
"Ginni?" she asked, uncertainly. She hadn't known the girl very well.
"What do you want?" Ginni answered. She fingered the weapon at her hip.
"We're here to ride to the rescue," Sikura said.
Ginni reached for her com button. She was calling for reinforcements. "We don't want help," she said as she pushed the button.
"I think you do," Paltronis said. "Tell Clark hi for me, will you?"
Ginni flicked on a light, shining it in Paltronis' face. Paltronis stood still, though her instincts screamed at her to stay out of the light, keep her night vision intact. The light flicked off.
"It's Paltronis," Ginni said into her com as Paltronis blinked blindly. "Do you vouch for the others?" she asked Paltronis.
"They're with me," Paltronis said.
"They'll have the hatch open for you," Ginni said, melting back into the shadow of the cargo bay doors.
"Trouble?" Paltronis asked.
"They want Jasyn back on Council. She doesn't want to go. Gypsy business," Ginni said dismissively.
Paltronis couldn't help her grin. She headed around the ship for the hatch. The boarding ramp was down. The hatch cycled open, spilling light over her group.
"Cici?"
She couldn't mistake that voice. She dropped her packs and duffels and stepped into the light. "Beryn," she answered, suddenly shy and awkward.
"You don't know how good it is to see you," Beryn said as he caught her in a hug that was more than friendly. She returned it. "Who are your friends?"
"I see you brought your own arsenal," Lowell said from the hatch. "That should help things."
Paltronis couldn't help laughing as she introduced her friends to each other. Beryn never let go of her hand and she didn't care that the others noticed. No one said anything, not about that.
