“It won’t be too bad of a life,” she told herself. “You’re a farm girl, after all.” Death of a spouse meant loss of your homestead. That's why the marriage age of eighteen was so strict. Having a kid before eighteen greatly reduced your chance of living. It was the one thing all the Creshy doctors couldn’t cure. Too many risks, when all they had to do was limit marriage to eighteen plus, and the problems solved themselves.
Blackmarket places like this didn’t care about age. They’d fake all the paperwork so the age limit wasn’t a problem. Even an irate customer with a dead wife on their hands couldn’t find the sellers to complain to. And once settled on the planet, there was no coming back. Transport lines took years to develop, a new terraformed world could collect tax for ten years before the first trading vessel touched base in the system, and only after at least three planets had been terraformed was it even worth the fuel.
There was no one to catch you in the lie. No one to track missing daughters if they got you offworld. No one to save her. The loneliness of Miranda’s circumstance hit her hard. For the first time, the death of her family felt real. Tears welled up behind her eyes and spilled out. Large crying sobs racked her body. As she stood there bound, dirty, and about to be sold to the highest bidder, she let all the fear and sadness and loss go.
Her captor gave her a shake.
“Brighten up, lovely,” he said in an accent she couldn’t place, “your turn here in a bit.”
Miranda didn't care. She let her body wash her emotions clean until she’d rung herself dry.
“Right then, your turn.” He thrust her forward with one hand and pulled the hood of with the other.
Part of her wished she could see herself. Dirty, covered in mud and blood and soot. Her clothes a wrinkled mess from falling and climbing and being kidnapped. Her eyes bloodshot from crying. Her hair at odd angles from the hood. She must look an absolute fright. It would limit the men that would bid on her. That was ok. She’d be sold. She was sure of that, but she might get a nice man. A too nice man without much money, but too quiet or shy to get a girl.
The auctioneer started the bid at a middle ground price, then proceeded to talk so fast Miranda couldn’t keep up. No one took it. The auctioneer dropped the price. Still no takers. He dropped the price again. Not a single person coughed, raised a hand, nothing. Stopping in his incessant calling for a moment the auctioneer said, “This one might look a little rough and tumble, but that might mean she’s even better in the sheets.” He winked at the audience members and went back to his calling. One hand near the far back tentatively went in the air.
The auctioneer grabbed onto it like a lifeline. He put only the minimal effort into trying to start a bid.
“Pretty little mud pie going once. Pretty little mud pie going twice.” On the word ‘twice’ the back door of the barn blew off its hinges, showering the people closest to it in splinters. MIlitary guards poured through the doors in their stark white uniforms.
“This is an official government raid. Remain where you are,” said an Ironside. Miranda recognised the voice. At their center of the flood stood an Ironside with a slightly dented helmet. For the second time in her life Miranda was relieved to see the best of the empire’s soldiers coming to her rescue.
Someone from the audience fired a blaster at the door. Everyone scattered. The women on the platform screamed. Chained as they were to one another, all they could do was duck for cover. Miranda lay exposed as blasters fired in every direction.
“Get down,” someone screamed at her. MIranda stood there, watching the red and yellow lights flash around her in every direction. She felt the sting of a blast bolt singe her hair.
Oscar beeped a warning at her, but Miranda was too dazed to respond. The droid rolled straight into her knees, knocking them out from under her. She landed with a thud face first into the boards of the makeshift stage they’d constructed in the barn just as a faser blast scarred where she’d been standing. Her arms failed to come up in time. Her nose hit the boards with a sickening crunch. Blood gushed down her face.
That woke her up. She curled herself into a ball, afraid to move, gun fire going off around her in every direction. Even when it stopped she still heard it ringing in her ears. The ‘pew pew’s echoed around her head.
“Are you ok?” said that familiar voice. A hand touched her back, turning her over. She looked up into the mask of the Ironside, his gear fluctuating between camo mode and silver visibility. Miranda laughed. He looked too much like a ghost for her comfort.
"They got away," a soldier reported to the Ironside. His name tag read Axel. Odd for a last name. Maybe they went by first names in the imperial forces.
“Here, let me help you up.” The Ironside gave her his hand. She used it to gain her balance.
“Do we have a key for these?” the Ironside asked, looking to his left and right. He looked right at the soldier Axel. Axel shrugged. The Ironside held the chains in one hand and pulled a blaster from his left side with the other. Miranda pulled back, cringing at the weapon, but the Ironside held fast.
“Pew pew,” the gun went off. The chains fell away, melted to slag by the power of a close range shot.
Miranda stood there no longer in chains, rubbing her wrists, thankful that the hood was no longer on and that the second most frightening thing that had ever happened in her life was now behind her. She wiped the blood from her nose with a corner of her dress that looked clean enough.
It was a simple matter, getting saved. Ironsides breaking up an illegal auction was probably something they did on planetoids every day.
But to her it was like magic. Something out of a fairy tale. The knight coming to the princess’ rescue; things that she only read about in offworld stories. From the original age of imperialism, back before the Empire was a solidified form with all of the different planets being terraformed by the First Ones. It was more romantic than her poor little head could handle at this moment. She sat there contemplating all of this, caught up in her own daydreams, until she had heard the words.
The Ironside swore. He stomped down one booted foot, and then the other, oblivious to the way that it shook the stage that the girls sat on.
Miranda was one of only 16 that escaped the auction. The fleeing buyers had taken their brides with them if they’d already bought.
She could have sworn there had been hundreds gathered, or at least one hundred gathered. Better not to exaggerate such things.
"I could have sworn that they were going to be here," the Ironside said.
"Yes, sir," said the other Ironside, saluting him.
"We caught this one trying to escape with the cash box.” The soldier, whose name tag said Cash, pushed a man towards the first Ironside.
“Bring him here,” said the Ironside. Miranda made a mental note to try and learn his name. She’d thought that he’d be in her life just that once. But know she wasn’t so sure. Nothing seemed sure anymore.
“Yes, sir,” said Cash. They pulled forward a raggedy looking man, his teeth barely there. Who knows where he had lost them; either to rot, or to fights. His hair was struggling to cover a bald spot. His shoulders looked strong from years of labor. His hands were hardened with calluses, his clothes nondescript farmers garb; blue jeans, and a light white shirt. Nothing about him stood out from anyone else that had been on the grounds, except for his sneer. Under his curved lip was the kind of man that could never be broken. Even when slapped and beaten and put on a pole for display that sardonic sneer would cut through the mind of any that tried to break this man.
“Who tipped you off?” the Ironside said. His dented helmet made his voice crackle. The man spat on the floor but kept his mouth shut. His eyes burned with hate as he looked at the Ironside. The Ironside tipped his head towards the soldiers holding the ringleader. The one that had brought him over punched him in the gut.
The man bent over in serious pain. But when he lifted his head, his eyes showed that shrewd intelligence.
�
��Who tipped you off?” the Ironside asked again. Another punch to the gut.
“No one,” he said, spitting blood this time.
“Well if no one tipped you off, then how did the rebels get away.” It was not a question, but the man answered it anyway.
“What rebels? I know of no rebels. I am just a businessman,” he said. His smirk tugged at the corner of his bleeding mouth.
“Fine. What was your business here?”
The man shrugged, as much as a man being held by two armed soldiers could shrug.
“I'm just a tradesman.” He waved his hands to the left and right. His arms, trapped between the soldiers, remained unmoving.
“And what are you trading? Wives?” the Ironside stated.
“Yes,” the businessman said. That’s what Miranda was going to call him from now on. She refused to give such trash a real name. It didn’t matter if she would ever see him again. In her mind he would always be a businessman.
“Your legal paperwork for these poor girls,” the Ironside reached forward as if expecting the trapped man to produce the video cards on the spot.
“My compadres have it stacked in the back,” he said, his smile unmoved. “Besides, what would rebels want with girls? What rebel would want a wife; so he could settle down in the far reaches of the Empire? Away from the action and target of the capital?”
Cash looked at the Ironside. “We're not going to get anything out of him.” He punched the business man again for good measure; once in the stomach, and once in the head.
The man coughed blood. The soldier went for a third punch. The Ironside stopped his arm mid swing and stepped in, his mask against the face of the man.
“They were here for something” said the Ironside. “And one way or another, you are going to tell me what they where here for."
The Ironside tipped his head to the left. The two soldiers dragged the man away. He would be interrogated later in a much more civilized setting. But for the moment the girls had to be dealt with. He shooed the third soldier away with his hand.
"You girls are free to go," he said to the girls that were still huddled against the stage. They began to relax slightly, thankful that they were not going to be pieced off to some colonial place with a husband that had bought them instead of loved them enough to try their hand. A man undeserving of their talents. The Ironside probably thought so little them. Girls easily caught up in the schemes of money grabbing men.
Miranda wasn't the ugliest among those that were gathered, but she certainly did not look worthy in her stained work dress. All covered in dirt and blood and mud caked on; such was the price of the days that she had been having. Now she could add blaster dust and wood chips.
Then she heard it. Oscar's voice in the distance.
"Beep beep," he said. She looked up to see him rolling up next to the Ironside. The Ironside looked down at the little droid and gave him a pat on the head.
"Beep" said Oscar, rolling up the stage. He tried hiding under her skirts. Not that there was much to hide.
"Thank you, Oscar," Miranda said. "It's so good to see you." She gave the little droid a hug. He’d saved her life; the least she owed him was a hug.
The little droid—the only thing left from her old life. It didn't hurt that he had all of her clothing packed away somewhere in one of his drawers. It just meant so much to her to have a piece of home. A piece of reality not tied to everything that had happened in the last few days. If she had had the tears to cry, they would have been streaming down her face. But she was all dried up.
Her lips cracked. Her nose a fountain of dried blood. Her eyes were swollen from hours and hours of crying. There was no moisture left for tears of joy.
Chapter 8
She wasn’t as far away from the shining ocean city as she’d feared. The hood had definitely caused her more confusion, because it had felt like they traveled for days. All that time between blacking out and waking had been minutes, not days or weeks. She was still trapped in the nightmare of this day.
When she stepped out of the barn, she could see the outline of the central tower on the horizon; its glass surface a diamond reflecting the sun and sea. They were in one of the upscale farms that bordered the city. Not more than an hour or two hover-ride away.
Her mother had told her about these farms. They were gifts from the emperor to soldiers that fought in the Galactic Wars. Unlike a homestead grant, these were endowed to the family indefinitely. If the descendants didn’t want to live there, they could rent them out and receive a portion of the crops produced. It was the best real estate on the planet. Sometimes when families were between renters they fell prey to illicit actions, like bride auctions. But they never stayed empty for long. The protection of the greater city and the richness of the land made being a renter worth it.
“Are you okay, miss?” asked the Ironside. It was an honest question. One that she was not likely to get from any of the other soldiers.
She looked up at the Ironside, noticing the line of his shoulders. How much broader he looked than any of her brothers. He was tall, too. Much taller than her father. Did he remember her? She didn’t think so. But it was so hard to read concern through a mechanically filtered voice. He was a hard-light hologram underneath that helmet, for all she knew. She couldn’t even see his eyes. There was no way of knowing what he saw when he looked upon her.
Was he still after the rebels that had murdered her family? She had the answer to the second question, even if she’d never know the reality of the first. Yes. He was. She didn’t need to ask. He’d said as much as he interviewed the business man. Even in her mind, the words crawled with sarcasm.
“Miss?” the Ironside asked again. Had she been so lost in her own thoughts that she failed to answer him?
‘He must think I’m a halfwit,’ she thought.
“No, I am not alright.” The truth slipped from her mouth before she could stop it.
“Not alright,” he repeated back at her. It was funny. He most likely expected her to state platitudes, but after the day—or maybe it was days now, she didn’t know—she’d had, nice wasn’t in her.
“Yes. I am very much not alright,” she stated again. He must not have been used to people telling him unfiltered truth, because he simply stared at her.
‘If only I could see his face,’ she thought. ‘I bet his mouth would be open.’ But she couldn’t tell through the helmet.
“The droid yours?” asked the Ironside.
“What’s your name?” Miranda asked, ignoring his question. He’d made to change the subject, so if they were changing the subject then she wanted to know some things about her two-time rescuer in the off-chance that he’d rescue her again.
“What?” he stuttered.
“What is your name?” she said again, making sure to pronounce everything without slurring any of the words, but not slowing down as if talking to a child. He was no child, this man in uniform. She was going to find his name out, but it didn’t hurt to be direct.
“Eric,” he said. “Pr... well, just Eric.”
“Do they strip you of your last name when you enter the army?” she asked. She was thinking about whether they would call her ‘Farmer’ in basic, or if she would become Miranda. Free from her old life.
“No,” he said standing a little straighter.
“No?” she repeated. This conversation was going nowhere. “What kind of a man doesn’t have a last name?”
“The kind that lived on a planet that didn’t give em.” He slurred the last word. Miranda stifled a giggle. So she was pushing on a button. She looked down at his gun and swallowed hard. Maybe it wasn’t good to aggravate the highly trained killer with a laser gun that could blow her to pieces with a single shot.
She stood on wobbly knees. They shifted under her, refusing to take her weight just long enough to throw off her center of balance. He caught her in his arms before she took him down with her.
“Thanks,” she said, grateful to be steady.
“Can I help in any way?” he asked, taking a step back from her. He probably wanted distance, given that she could easily collapse again. He didn’t want a girl to take him down for a second time in front of his men.
“Yes, I need to go to the transportation office,” she said.
“The transportation office,” he repeated. Was he a patriot? Miranda began to wonder. He kept repeating everything she said. It felt like the whole conversation was a repeat.
“Yes. You sent me to the main offices, I joined the military and they told me to go to the transportation center. So I can catch the next transport to basic,” she said.
She waited. He stood there still as a rock. Seconds ticked away in her mind. She shifted from one foot to the other and back again, waiting. Her mind had no room to wonder. She was fried. Filled to the brim with everything that was going on in her life.
“I can do that,” he said. Eric said. She was going to start calling him Eric. Not Ironside. Not him, but Eric.
“Great,” she replied. She looked around the room. Some of the girls were still giving statements. Others were wrapped in blankets. All of them were being treated by soldiers with snakes on their bags. Miranda had never seen a snake in real life. The creatures were rare. Kept in special cages. Bread as pets for high ranking Creshi. They never left Cresh. One of the most dangerous animals. They once escaped into the wilds of a newly terraformed planet before the Empire was formed. They killed all of the human inhabitants within a year. The planet had to be reterraformed. Even then, it was abandoned. Left to rot. The stuff of night campfire stories.
Imperial Edge Page 5
