Nimbus

by Jacey Bedford

  “Derri. Calf holster.”

  This was Crossways. Even peace and prosperity held danger.

  Their tub cab pulled up alongside a brightly lit plaza, filled with holiday crowds and lined with booths taking advantage of the footfall Roxburgh’s casino inevitably created.

  “Wait here for Gwala,” Ben told Peckett and Lumb.

  Lumb nodded. “Please don’t get yourselves killed on our watch.”

  “We’ll try not to.”

  The largest gambling establishment on the station, Roxburgh Heights was the epitome of decadence. The entrance was a blaze of light, sparkling pillars, seductive music, and the swish of cool scented air. Beautiful, androgynous youngsters, oozing sexuality, drummed up business, flaunting themselves in exotic costumes and cajoling potential customers inside. Despite their apparent youth, if they worked for Roxburgh, they would have lethal skills and an arsenal tucked away in their glittering outfits or even grafted into their flesh.

  Ben took Cara’s hand and they sauntered through the plaza crowd and allowed themselves to be persuaded inside. Negotiating the entrance with its row upon row of machines of chance, they passed into the body of the building, an open central floor three stories high with a succession of shaded balconies. Cara looked over the crowd, everyone masked, dressed in their finery, drinks and gambling chips in their hands, some alone, some with partners, some with house escorts, rented by the hour. Staff, easily identified by their various styles of house turquoise, had masks painted on. That didn’t, of course, mean all the masked customers were actually customers. Roxburgh would have security seeded throughout the revelers, and they were as likely to be female as male, slight as butch.

  *What are you getting?* Ben asked.

  Cara had been scanning with eyes and ears only, but now she opened up her talent for Empathy and checked the mood of the room.

  *Excitement, elation, pensiveness—all the usual emotions I’d expect to find around a gaming wheel. Whatever they’re serving, it’s pretty potent stuff. There’s more than a little inebriation, but people are having a good time. Ah, someone dropped a pot on the wrong number—definitely a surge of disappointment.* She looked round. *Yes, over there. He’s lost a fortune, but the woman moving in on him is a house girl about to make up for his loss and keep him sweet.*

  *Good business. Cuts down on trouble and for what the house has won, her cost has been covered a hundred times over.*

  *I’m getting a sense of anticipation as well. Some, not all, are looking forward to something happening later tonight and—oh—*

  *Something wrong?*

  *Someone’s angry, more than nervous, and a little bit drunk. Bad combination.*

  *Gambled and lost?*

  *I don’t think so.*

  “Drinks, sir, gentlefem?” A turquoise-bedecked waitress with cleavage she could have hidden a laser cannon inside sashayed up to them. “May I direct you to a table or find you a booth? Or are you here for the floor show?”

  There was something in the way she said floor show that emphasized it. Given that the stage curtains were closed, Cara figured she wasn’t talking about a regular entertainment.

  “Floor show.” Ben didn’t hesitate.

  “Entrance is five thou. Four thou off your first purchase. Price includes delivery anywhere on-station this side of the docks. There’s an additional fee of two thou on your bid if you require delivery past the exit barriers direct to your ship.”

  “Understood.”

  The waitress held up the payment meter on her left wrist. Ben hesitated and without looking at Cara, said, *Do you still have your anonymous line of credit?*

  She’d arranged untraceable funds for the trip with Jussaro.

  “I’ll get that,” she said, and pinged the reader with her handpad.

  The waitress held out a wristband embedded with a chip and Cara took it before Ben could.

  *Did we just spend five thousand credits?* she asked.

  *The floor show is where it’s at.*

  *I thought I was supposed to be the Empath.*

  *Call it a hunch. Garrick will reimburse us.*

  “What the heck are you two doing here?” A small, stout woman confronted them, wearing a bright red, sequined dress that stretched alarmingly over her generous proportions, and a matching mask that covered her eyes, but failed to disguise her double chin.

  *Oh, great. That’s all we needed,* Ben said.

  *The source of the anger and nervousness,* Cara warned Ben. *Drunk, definitely drunk.*

  “Dido—”

  “Shut up, Benjamin, I’m here in disguise. How did you know it was me?”

  “I’d recognize your voice anywhere.”

  He saw Cara biting her lip, trying not to smile.

  “The bastard’s taken one of my kids, and I can’t even get in there without sodding five thousand. I haven’t even got five hundred. What am I supposed to do next?” Dido shoved a hand beneath her mask and swiped it across her eye.

  “Hold on. Which bastard? What kid?” Ben asked.

  “You know which bastard. Roxburgh.”

  “Okay, we’re halfway there. What kid?”

  Ben had rarely seen Dido’s den in Red One without a pack of feral kids from the neighborhood.

  “Efra. Not much to look at but hella talented. Had to chase off one of Roxburgh’s scouts a few months ago, but they musta tagged her. She disappeared the day she turned legal. Sixteenth birthday.”

  “Are you sure they took her against her will?”

  She scowled. “Not entirely. They mighta ’ticed her away. Life’s pretty tough down on the lower levels, ’specially this year. Folks barely get by. They mighta sold her. Sometimes families’ll sacrifice one kid to feed the rest.”

  It wasn’t an unfamiliar story, even out in space. People slipped through the cracks, and a station the size of Crossways had its underclass barely scraping a living.

  “So Roxburgh’s taken one of the kids from Red One and he’s doing what, pimping her out?”

  “Nah. Benjamin, listen, willya? She’s not much to look at, but she’s talented.” She whirled her index finger around her temple. “Talented. Get it?”

  “Implant talented?” Cara butted in.

  “Maybe talented enough without an implant. She’s empathic, a natural. Roxburgh and the other casino owners can’t employ psi-techs—no one would play the tables—but there’s nothing against employing someone naturally talented. I mean, how could you tell? You could put an implant in this girl and she’d be worth a small fortune on the black market, but someone with that kind of talent without an implant would be worth a large fortune.”

  “He’ll sell her rather than keep her himself?”

  “Too close to home, here. Someone might recognize her. He’ll sell her off-station and buy in from outside. Probably get his pick of the merchandise for facilitating the auction. It starts in less than half an hour.”

  Auction. Ben felt his guts turn over. Cara was talking about Sanctuary for psi-techs, yet they hadn’t considered that naturals needed protection, too.

  Ben swore. “I presume you want your girl back.”

  “What do you think?”

  “For what it’s worth, we’re here because Garrick thought something was going down tonight. What do you know?”

  “Not much.”

  “Anything at all might help.”

  “You have to pay to get in.”

  “We know that.”

  “Word is that there are ten lots for sale, all of them talented, none of them fitted with an implant.”

  “All of them from the station?”

  She shook her head. “Some from on-station, others from outside. This is a specialist sale. These kids are from all over the settled galaxy.”

  “Are they all kids?”

  “I’m no
t sure about that. All I know is they’re all natural telepaths or empaths or whatever, and the merchandise can’t go back to the planet, or station of origin, in case they’re recognized. It’s part of the deal that they ship out within six hours of the sale being finalized.”

  “Who are the buyers?”

  “No names, no ID. That’s why tonight being masked is a huge advantage.”

  “So they have to move the—oh, hell, we can’t call them merchandise, let’s call them slaves because that’s what they are—they have to move the slaves away from the casino and to the docks after the event.”

  “Yeah, I suppose. Your guess is as good as mine.”

  *Better to intercept them on their way to the docks rather than try to raid the auction and start a turf war,* Ben said to Cara. *We’d need a lot more planning to take Roxburgh down in his own lair, especially with so many civilians.* He glanced around at the happy customers. *The collateral damage would be brutal. We’ll have teams to stake out the possible exits. If we can catch them en route, so much the better. We probably need an Empath with each team to identify the naturals.*

  *I’ll tell Mother Ramona,* Cara said. *Any we miss on the road we can catch at the docks. Station control can hold up any vessels launching from private bays.*

  Dido scrunched up her forehead. “You guys making plans?”

  “Made,” Ben said.

  “What are you going to do now?”

  Cara pulled the wristband from Ben’s fingers. “I’m going shopping.”

  “Why you?”

  “Because you’re big and brown, and even with your mask, Roxburgh’s thugs might recognize you once they only have a few people to focus on. I’ll blend in better: not too tall, mask, hair with temporary colors on top of the blonde, party dress—shall I go on? Besides I can identify the naturals and flash descriptions to the teams, and you can coordinate from out here.”

  Damn, she was right.

  *Stay in touch.*

  *You know I always do.*

  He watched her sashay into the crowd with a sinking feeling.

  “Come on, Dido, into this booth and keep your head down until Cara calls for backup.” He hustled her toward an empty corner.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “We watch and we wait.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  AUCTION

  CARA SETTLED HER MASK FIRMLY AND WAVED her chipped wristband at the security hulk on the door. “One for the floor show.”

  He drew aside the curtain and invited her into a short corridor leading to a room with tables and chairs set around a small raised dais.

  She accepted a glass from a circulating waiter, but noted with relief a carafe of water on the table as she took a seat.

  *I’m in,* she told Ben on a very tight communication. *Eight people here already, all masked. No one I recognize. They all appear to be individual buyers except for one couple, both female, who have their heads together talking quietly. I think I’m early. Ah, another party arriving now, six together, obviously know each other. Another three individuals, all male.* She detailed arrivals until the room filled up, thirty-seven people in all.

  The lights dipped and the platform lights brightened.

  *It’s starting. Stand by.*

  Roxburgh put in a personal appearance and welcomed everyone. That man could sure wear a formal suit. It hung from his powerful shoulders and fit in all the right places. Roxburgh’s fair hair reminded her of Ari van Blaiden, but luckily that’s where the comparison ended. Ari had been impossibly handsome. Roxburgh was striking but not gorgeous. She knew he didn’t have an implant, but at this distance she should have been able to pick up underlying emotions, even from a deadhead. Unfortunately, he had a kind of emotional fog around him which meant he must be wearing a damper to protect himself from empathic snooping.

  “On the tables in front of you, you’ll find bidding numbers, gentlefem and gentlemen. Raise them to place your bid. At the end of the auction you may pay by credit chip or by house chip. Names and contact details will not be required. You are assured discretion.”

  Until station security picked them up on their way to the docks. Cara stifled a smile and passed the information in to Ben.

  Without wasting any more time, Roxburgh brought in twelve individuals and lined them up in front of the stage, as diverse a bunch as it was possible to get.

  *There are twelve of them, not ten,* she told Ben. *Two boys look like twins. I doubt they’re more than fourteen years old.*

  *Can you see Efra?*

  Cara quickly identified Kennedy’s kid from Red One. Apart from the twins she was the youngest and was obviously scared out of her wits, but she wasn’t running or weeping. Roxburgh had probably explained what would happen if she didn’t cooperate. The other nine ranged in ages from roughly fortyish down to perhaps early twenties, and in color from deepest black to someone who was pearl-white with a tattooed design on his skin in grays and blacks.

  “You may examine the merchandise,” Roxburgh said.

  Some of the potential bidders moved in immediately; others hung back, perhaps because they’d had a private viewing earlier.

  *Cara, Dido Kennedy’s about to burst. Is the kid there?*

  *Yes.* She projected what she could see to Ben.

  *Dido says can you get her out?*

  *Not from here. She’s right under the spotlight.*

  *Find some way to tag her, so we can follow her with a Finder if we have to. I’ll get Max.*

  *If you can pry him away from Gen and the kid.* Max was wrapped firmly around his daughter’s little finger.

  Little finger—that might work. Cara plucked three hairs from the crown of her head where she’d let it grow a little longer than usual. Good job she’d missed her last haircut. Quickly she twisted them round each other and tied them in a loop.

  She left her table and walked down the line, trying not to lock glances with anyone. A fair proportion of the buyers, whether they were the actual buyers themselves or proxies, would be implanted psi-techs trying to test the potential of the naturals. Cara kept her mental shields firmly locked in place and didn’t open herself up to the possibility of psionic attack. Just because he wasn’t allowed to have implanted psi-techs operate in his casino, didn’t mean Roxburgh only employed deadheads behind the scenes.

  She took the hand of the first young man in line, as if examining it. She wanted to say help is on the way, but she daren’t let anything slip mentally. The next was an older woman dressed in traditional Japanese costume. Again, Cara took her hand and when the woman made a slight bow, she returned it. The third had glistening scaly silver-black skin and gills on the side of his neck so was most likely an adapted human from a water world, maybe from Aqua Neriffe like Marta Mansoro, the Free Company’s stores and supply specialist. He snatched his hand away and gave her a look that said he’d like to dismember her slowly with a blunt spoon. Even with all her shields in place, he was uncomfortable to be around. His face, which should have been silver, was flushed a strange shade of bronze, and his gill slits undulated, indicating discomfort. It was hot in here and he was drying out.

  Next was a man she’d taken to be in his forties, but on closer inspection he could be twice that age, not a sound investment for anyone looking for a long-term return for their credits unless he was exceptionally talented. She regarded him with new appreciation.

  By the time she reached Efra, close to the middle of the line, Cara had established a pattern. As she took the girl’s hand, she slipped the loop of hair over her little finger and squeezed, glancing up to meet her eyes. Efra frowned briefly and then closed her hand into a fist to keep the loop in place. Good. Cara hoped that was enough. A good Finder, someone as good as Max, would be able to locate the hair.

  *Should I bid?* Cara asked Ben. She settled in her seat as Roxburgh bowed out and a professional auc
tioneer stepped forward.

  *Only if you’re sure you’re not going to win, or if not bidding would make you stand out from the crowd. Roxburgh will have someone watching and is probably recording the whole thing from several different angles.*

  *Or maybe not recording if he doesn’t want evidence of this. The station’s convention says no human trafficking.*

  *You’ve always been able to buy anything on Crossways. Garrick’s trying to alter the old ways, but it’s slow going.*

  *I get four thousand off my first purchase, right?*

  *That’s what your ticket entitles you to. Cara . . . don’t . . .*

  *If I buy, then I get to see what happens afterward, and I can let you know which exits to watch.*

  There was Ben’s mental equivalent of a harrumph followed by, *Take care. Roxburgh’s not above dumping a body out of an airlock to protect himself.*

  *Noted.*

  Cara watched the bidding intently. They took the lots in reverse order to the way she’d viewed them. The first two went for eighteen and twenty-four thousand each. The twins went for sixty thousand as a pair.

  Efra sold for twenty-six thousand to two women who nudged each other, obviously pleased with themselves. Cara bid, but was forced to drop out while there were still five bidders.

  She gritted her teeth as the auction carried on. She bid on the little old man, surprised to see him go for thirteen thousand. The bidding on the water world man was slow, however. Cara hadn’t opened herself up to sense his feelings, but if he was projecting trouble like he was dishing out hate-filled looks, he’d no doubt scared off some of the customers, which was probably his intent. The bidding went past six but stalled at seven.

  “Seven, am I bid seven?” The auctioneer called out. “Seven, no? Six, five hundred. Six, two-fifty, then. No takers? The bid’s with table six at six thousand credits.”

  Cara realized that was her.

  “Six thousand it is, to table six.”

  She nodded an acknowledgment. She’d make the best of it. She hoped the man didn’t put up a physical struggle. She was fairly sure he wouldn’t be expecting her to be able to floor him in three seconds, but she didn’t want to overplay her hand.