She’d docked at what was early day, station time. It was mid-morning by the time she’d run through the full course of system shut-downs and arranged for off-loading the small cargo she had to sell — hand-made goods smuggled off Aerieland, that fetched a handsome price when shipped to older and richer Confederacy worlds where hand-made things were novelties — and by then all the shops and provisioners lining the corridors of Outpost Station were open and eager to accommodate buyers like Chloe, who came to the station only when they were in need.
Chloe put on her best bargaining face and headed out into the breach.
It was a long process, one that Chloe both loved and loathed. She found joy in seeing, hearing and smelling the myriad of wares available on Outpost Station, especially at those shops which regularly managed to bring new or surprising goods in from the older worlds. Dealing with some of the merchants was not as pleasant. The task was made all the more difficult by her need to avoid official observation as much as possible. The largest merchants — the ones with the best supplies and the least harassment of their customers — were also the ones which made the closest checks on those customers and whose transactions were the most closely scrutinized by officialdom at station level and above. Some things, however, were only available through those channels. Chloe shopped where she had to, but kept the purchases small and spread them around to several different locations.
By the end of the day she was tired: Physically dragging, from trudging to and fro across the length and breadth of the retail zone, but also emotionally drained from the stress of keeping her purchases as inconspicuous as possible. It was nearly closing time when she entered the shop that she’d saved for last, a “general store” that could have been lifted whole-cloth from any tale of the Old West of long-ago Earth. Its proprietor, Ben Afarsi, was the one merchant she actually liked and respected — and the only one she trusted to never trigger alarms with the authorities, no matter how sensitive or illicit the item that she needed. It helped that he stocked, or could get, just about anything a person could imagine. It was only the matter of “just about” — plus his regrettably high prices — that kept her from making Afarsi’s her sole stop when she came to Outpost Station.
Still. She visited and purchased regularly enough that the merchant recognized her on sight, greeting her with a grin and a wave before the ancient bell attached to the shop door had even finished jingling in welcome.
“Miss Chloe,” the shopkeeper called out in his usual condescending way. “Welcome, welcome! You grace my humble establishment with your presence!” Tall, dark-skinned, and looking of Arabic extraction — unusual for one who habitually wore a Stetson on his head — Afarsi still managed to bring a smile to Chloe’s face as she made her way past tables overflowing with every imaginable sort of product, hard and soft, from ship parts to short pants. She offered her hand for the kiss she knew he would insist on giving her, then chuckled lightly when his moustache tickled her knuckles.
“So how’ve the infidels been treatin’ you, Ben?” Chloe was careful to pull her hand back, knowing that Afarsi would hold on to it all day, given the chance — or at least until Chloe needed it to sign a credit transfer screen.
“Business is wonderful!” The man’s grin grew even larger at the mention of his favorite subject. “Even when business is bad, business is good. You of all people know that, Miss Chloe.”
“I do indeed, Ben,” Chloe said with a nod. “I do indeed. Which is of course why ’tis your shop that I come to when I’m needin’ somethin’ special.”
Afarsi’s eyes sparkled. “You have a challenge for me?”
Chloe chuckled softly. “Nothin’s better for business than a wee bit of a challenge now and then, don’t you know?” She couldn’t help smiling at Afarsi’s eager nod. “Not that business doesn’t have enough challenges on its own. But aye, ’tis a special item that I’m needin’ and I don’t want the whole universe to be knowin’ that I’m needin’ it.”
Afarsi actually began rubbing his hands together as Chloe spoke, near to drooling with excitement over the chance to display his magic touch. “You have definitely caught my interest, Miss Chloe. And just what would this thing be that is none of the universe’s business?”
“Sure, and I shouldn’t be sayin’ the name aloud,” she said in a soft, conspiratorial tone, then glanced around as she continued, “even in as fine a shop as this.” She reached into a pocket of her jumpsuit, pulling out a piece of folded paper and slipping it into Afarsi’s hand, then watched his eyes as he unfolded and read the request.
“Mmm,” the merchant growled low in his throat as his eyes widened a bit. “Not only an interesting challenge, Miss Chloe, but also a difficult one. I believe that I’ve only ever heard of these reaching Outpost Station one time before. And that was at the request of the Manager himself.”
“So ... you’re sayin’ that there might already be one here on the station?”
Afarsi looked insulted and shook a finger at Chloe in the ancient “don’t ask me my secrets” gesture. “Let’s just say that I believe I can find one for you,” he told her, matching her earlier tone of deep conspiracy, “but it may be a while before I can deliver.”
Chloe pasted a look of faux distress on her face. “And here I was so hopin’ to be takin’ it home with me on the morrow.”
The merchant considered. “Tomorrow may be a bit difficult,” he said, his voice slow as his thoughts were clearly racing. “How long before you are actually scheduled to undock?”
“Brigid Delaney is docketed to be leavin’ at oh-nine-hundred the mornin’ after next.”
Afarsi rolled his eyes toward heaven and muttered a prayer to Allah to preserve him from demanding customers. “Keep your cargo hold open until the last possible moment,” he said after a long minute of consideration, “and we should be able to do business.”
A smile sprang to Chloe’s lips, surprise at having found such a rare part so easily. The smile faded, though, when the merchant added, “Though it would be easier if I had other merchandise to deliver and, shall we say, secrete this little item within?”
Chloe tsked once and sighed heavily. “Sure and you’d be askin’ your own mother to buy ‘just a few extra things’ on Mother’s Day, Ben Afarsi,” she gently scolded the merchant, then dug another slip of paper out of a pocket and handed it over to him. “But knowin’ you as I do, I came prepared for the request.”
Afarsi quickly scanned the new list, his smile growing larger as he did. “These will be no problem at all, Miss Chloe, as I’m sure you well know,” he said, allowing his voice to once more fill with the vibrant joy of a happy merchant. “They will also work quite well as the, ah, packaging.”
“I knew I could count on you.” Chloe smiled, then quickly leaned over to give the merchant a peck on his cheek. “’Tis a good feelin’ I get, knowin’ you’re always here when I need you.”
“My pleasure, as always,” Afarsi said with a grin, then quickly grabbed his comm and was snapping out quiet but firm orders even as Chloe was still heading for the shop door.
2
Chloe had been tired when she arrived at Afarsi’s; she was absolutely dragging after a trek across nearly the breadth of the station to reach a place whose modestly-sized main sign read, simply, Codlaímid. Smaller lettering on the door, as one entered, added the qualifier, A Place of Rest, something Chloe desperately sought at that point. When she’d first found the inn, years before, her initial attraction had been to its quirky name — a Gaelic word that translated to, “we sleep” — but it had been the quiet rooms and personable staff that had made her fall in love with the place. She’d felt welcome from the first moment she’d entered, and several years on it had become the only place she would stay when on Outpost Station. It had become more of a second home to her than was Aerieland.
This day she had to wait in line as the only desk person finished checking in other customers. Not that she minded; the desk clerk, whom she knew only as Tim, had thr
own her a wink as she’d neared the desk, reassurance that she wouldn’t have to wait long. Indeed, she’d barely queued up than she saw Tim hand the customers a key card and a smile.
“Unit thirty-two, folks,” he said, his soft tenor voice carrying a world’s worth of warmth even in the simple words of direction. “Just down that corridor to your right. Checkout time is eleven hundred tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” one the nameless travelers said, taking the card in one hand and hoisting a suitcase in the other. “How late is room service open?”
“Any orders called in before 2200 will be honored,” Tim told the man, who nodded and took himself and his female companion off down the corridor to his right. Meanwhile, Tim had turned a welcoming smile to his returning customer.
“Welcome back, Chloe,” he said, his words as bright as his smile, and began entering data into his desktop terminal. “How long are you scheduled on-station this time?”
Chloe bellied herself up to the counter and heaved a tired sigh. “Naught but two nights, Tim-me-lad. Just a simple supply trip. All my orders are placed, but the merchants all seem to need a pesky twenty-four hours to deliver the goods.”
“About par for the course from what I hear,” Tim agreed, then allowed his eyes to glint as he casually leaned toward Chloe and lowered his voice. “It might raise your spirits a bit to know that I have your regular room all ready for you.”
Chloe felt a surge of joy run through her, the weariness draining from her body to be replaced by a tingle of anticipation — the phrase “regular room” was shorthand for, “Your friend is here and checked in.” Struggling to retain her composure despite a sudden surge of excitement, she managed to stutter, “That ... ’Tis great! Thank you, Tim.”
The desk clerk smiled knowingly and straightened up to resume entering data in his terminal. “My pleasure as always, Chloe. Have a good trip on the way here?”
“Ah ... aye, the trip went just fine.” Chloe was having trouble wrapping her mind around the meaningless small talk, so eager was she to get to her “regular room.” “At least, saints be praised, nothin’ broke down this time.”
Tim laughed softly. “You ever going to trade that ship of yours in on something from the current century?” When Chloe frowned slightly, he amended, “Well, OK, maybe just give it the overhaul it so richly deserves.” He grabbed the key card his terminal spit out at him and offered it to Chloe.
“Maybe someday, if God be willin’,” Chloe answered, still distracted. She took the card, then shook her head slightly to bring herself back to the present. “Takes real money to be fixin’ a ship up proper, don’t you know, and a lot more than that to trade up to new.” She paused to stare at the room card in her hand a moment, then turned to head down the same corridor the other guest had taken. After a couple of steps, though, she turned back to the desk.
“Thank you again, Tim, for the ... for the room.”
Tim smiled benignly at her. “Always, for one of my favorite customers, Chloe. Enjoy your stay.” He continued to smile as he watched the small woman take off, nearly running in her eagerness.
3
Krista Sperry stared at herself in the bathroom mirror for a long, breathless moment, before carefully reaching up to finger the garish bruise covering almost of half her face. The ugly purple-greenish-yellow swelling stood in stark contrast to her pale skin and thick, black hair. It was a sight she’d endured before, but never reconciled to.
“Ow.”
She stopped poking at the damage and retrieved a facecloth from the sink full of cold water in front of her, wrung it out a bit, then used it to dab at the bruise, hoping that the cool of the water might help ease the pain. The physical pain, at any rate.
After a minute of dabbing she paused, then considered once more her visage in the mirror. “He’s never made me look this bad before,” she muttered, then re-wetted the cloth and applied the cool relief once again. “At least, not where it shows like this.” The facecloth warmed quickly from the heat in her face, but the cool did help for as long as it lasted. Krista held the wetness against her face a bit longer, then slowly felt her resolve crumble as the face in the mirror seemed to mock her. It would be days, she knew, before the bruising would pass. In the mean time she still had to face the world looking like this ... face not only merchants, to order supplies, but also the mercenaries and other unsavory types whose aid Hans wanted her to enlist. Slowly, despite her best efforts to hold them back, she felt tears begin to well in her eyes and slide down her cheeks. The tears quickly became sobs. She turned and let herself sink down to sit on the lidded toilet, still holding the now-warm cloth to her face, sobbing almost uncontrollably for....
For what? Lost pride? She’d lost that years before, the first time she’d submitted to Vattermann’s demands. For Vattermann himself, who considered raw, painful, unwanted sex to be an act of love … who considered his “lover” to be just another possession, a thing to be used or abused at will?
“Oh, why can’t the bastard just kill me and get it over with,” Krista wailed through the tears, though she knew the answer as well as she knew her own name. Power. No matter what went wrong — or right — in the everyday affairs of piracy, Hans Vattermann retained full power over Krista Sperry, over the woman who was his mistress, his trophy ... his to command, his to deploy.
Power over my body, Krista reminded herself, but not over my mind. Never over my mind or over my soul. Not as long as....
A jolt ran through Krista as she heard the hotel room door open and close, followed by the snap of the door’s locks being engaged. Quickly, she used the facecloth to wipe away her tears, then tossed it into the sink and rushed out of the bathroom, stopping abruptly as she found Chloe securing the last of the locks. A moment later the Irish woman turned to catch her first sight of Krista’s horribly discolored features.
Chloe’s features reflected first horror, then anguish, as she took in the damage done to Krista’s face. When she spoke, her words were the barest whisper.
“For the love of God, what has he done to you?”
Krista opened her mouth to answer but no words came. Instead, she opened her arms in invitation, an offer Chloe accepted without hesitation, nearly flying across the room to wrap Krista in an embrace that was, at the same time, both reassuring and passionate.
“’Tis a monster you’re livin’ with,” Chloe whispered in Krista’s ear, “the very Devil himself.” Pulling back slightly, she moved her head so she could gently kiss Krista on the lips, careful not to touch the purple swelling, to not cause her lover pain.
“I didn’t think you were going to be here,” Krista said when the kiss broke, remnants of her tears still bubbling beneath her voice. “I was afraid that I’d missed you.”
Chloe shook her head then gently kissed Krista once more, all the while giving her an added squeeze of reassurance through their embrace. “I will always be here for you, love,” she said, her voice holding such ferocity that Krista had no doubt the words were true. “Always.”
Krista gazed into Chloe’s eyes, seeing there the passion, the tenderness — the love — that all of Hans Vattermann’s sexual domination could never convey. In that moment she suddenly felt safe, suddenly felt relaxed, in the warm and comforting embrace of the only person to ever, truly, love her as her.
“I know you will,” Krista said, her heart beginning to pound to a rhythm that matched Chloe’s beat for beat, a rhythm that held none of the fear she felt day-in and day-out but rather the passion that only true lovers could feel, passion quickly working its way into delicious lust.
“Your love is the only thing that keeps me sane,” she added as she began to maneuver her lover toward the hotel bed.
4
A few hours later the two of them cuddled gently under the thoroughly mussed covers of the room’s king-sized bed. Chloe gingerly touched at the bruises still vividly apparent in the dim light of a bed-side lamp.
“I still can’t see why you don’t just le
ave the bastard,” she whispered, her voice filled with the residue of their love.
Krista grasped Chloe’s hand as it touched her bruised face and gently moved it to her mouth, where she kissed it tenderly. “I only wish that I could, Chloe,” she said between kisses. “I desperately want to, you know that. But I just can’t leave while he holds my family hostage.”
Chloe felt her heart sink once again at the mention of Krista’s family. “Aye,” she breathed. “I know. But —” She broke off as a thought crossed her mind, and levered herself up on one arm. “My uncle Patrick would help you, Krista, I know that he would. We could get your family....”
“I don’t know where he has them, Chloe,” Krista all but wailed, though her voice remained low and soft. “They’re not at home in the Big Muddy slums any more. I’ve checked.” Her eyes filled with some of the fear that she lived with every day of her life. “Chloe, he will kill them if I try anything. He’ll kill all of them with no mercy, even my nieces. He’s already impressed my nephews into piracy. They’ll be full-fledged pirates as soon as they’re old enough.”
Chloe settled back down and pulled Krista into a long hug. When they released, she rolled onto her back and lay staring at the ceiling for a few minutes.
“What if we blew up your ship?”
Krista stared at Chloe in the dimness for a moment before shaking her head. “Huh?”
“Stage an accident,” Chloe clarified. “Make the bastard think you were dead.”
Krista closed her eyes and drew several slow breaths before answering. “He’d kill them,” she finally said. Chloe could tell that the thought had occurred to her before, and she’d already worked out what the consequences would be. “He wouldn’t even hesitate. Remember, love, the only reason Hans lets my family live is to keep me in line. If I’m gone they stop being hostages and turn into witnesses. He’d kill them in a heartbeat.”
Sydney Chambers Page 15
