Jem was nowhere in sight. As she backed into a doorway for warmth, she cursed him under her breath.
The Palace beckoned, its glitter a warm fire in the middle of the thickening snow. She understood why some would sell themselves to the King. It could mean surviving one more winter.
Well, Jem, you had your chance. It was time to see if Snake and Berita still insisted on the conditions of her return.
A hand touched her shoulder.
Karra spun around, her pistol already in her hand.
"Well, well," Jem said, grinning. "So you're alive after all."
"I could have killed you! You, of all people, should know better than to sneak up on me like that!" But she was more relieved than angry to see him.
"You stepped into this doorway before I got a close enough look. Let's go for kaffa and thaw you out. Ready?"
At the mention of kaffa, she forgave him instantly. "Am I ever! That wind is cold!"
Before they entered the restaurant on that pad, Karra remembered to hide her weapons. Sector Five law made it illegal for any civilian without a special license to carry them, a law they enforced in the Inner City.
"I waited at Peet's." Jem found them a back table. "But after the first few hours I knew you weren't going to show. I left a message there in case you arrived several days later, but you never came, thankfully. You would have been caught."
She nodded, but waited for the kaffa before she spoke. She clutched the cup in both hands, relishing the warmth. "I was on my way to Peet's just now, but I ran into a Friend. He told me to come here."
"Good. I'm glad you were stopped before you got any closer. It's still thick with Security. But we figured as long as they kept up their watch, we could do the same."
“Otherwise it would have been called off by now? Thanks."
He hesitated. "There was a blood trail. We thought you died."
As she held the steaming cup to her lips, her hands shook visibly. "I almost did," she said softly. "Security shot me. My arm still aches anytime I move it."
"Let me see."
She pulled up the sleeve of her shirt and removed the bandage. The wound showed new puckered pink skin. There would always be a gash in her arm.
“By the frozen waste!”
"I'm still able to use it, though," she said, flexing it. "It doesn't interfere with my use of a weapon."
Jem shook his head. "We won’t need your skill with weapons on this one. We planned your new identity around your office skills. Laren Demmita, your new identity, does have a yellow certificate in her history, but has tried her best to hide it." He reached inside his jacket and pulled out an info packet, complete with two sheets of yellow paper.
She took the pages and began reading.
"A whole new ID, complete background. Computerized. Later, I'll provide you with palmfilms to match the palm prints we have on file for your new identity."
The nearly invisible gloves could not be detected except at the wrists, where the palmfilms ended in an odd wrinkle that completely encircled the wrist. She could wear sleeves or bracelets to hide them, if necessary.
"A new life, like I promised."
"So what do I do?"
"I'm going to sell you to Mason Wester, the King of the King’s Palace."
"Sell me? What do you mean, sell me?"
“Wester needs an office assistant since his previous one suffered a fatal accident. But he’s particular. He wants someone who knows the business rather intimately. You have already put in an application, but have been unavailable because of a family emergency. I’m the emergency. Your worthless brother has recently turned up in your life. Although you have tried your best to pretend I don’t exist, I just got out of prison and have reinserted myself into your life. Because you’re nice, you’ve been trying to find me a job, but I don’t want a job. I want you to support me as you have in the past.
“By barebacking? Jem, you know I don’t do that anymore."
“It’s Sami, and I know you don’t, except by special arrangement.” He did not need to mention Barnis Ves, her last assignment for the Homelander Front.
“Sami, then. All right, Sami, I’m not working in a bordello,” she told him flatly.
“Of course not. But Sami has the idea that he can sell you to the King, getting an advance on your future pay. You, naturally, are reluctant to comply with him, but you have reached an agreement. If Mason Wester will hire you as his assistant, and be willing to give Sami the advance, Sami promises to remove himself from your life forever.”
"He won’t, though, will he."
Jem grinned. “Of course not. You and I will maintain regular contact with each other, during which he’ll bleed you for every wen he can get from you. The money, of course, will go to the Front for the palm films, the new identity, and other services as needed.”
“Not so fast, Sami, dear. My money goes to support Chalatta. I promised that Su would never need to support her. That’s one promise not even the Front can break.”
He regarded her calmly. “Laren Demmita has no siblings other than Sami, and has never had a child.”
“But I have, and my promise to Su takes precedence.”
"So quit. No one said you had to work for us. Then all your money will be yours. But if you choose to work for us, we have the control, not you. Decide now."
The same options she had considered earlier flashed through her mind. Her contacts that were not part of the Homelander Front were criminal, involving more risk than she was willing to take. She had wanted out of her past life. Otherwise she would have planned something else with one of her previous associates rather than shoplift her groceries while she waited for a response from the Homelander Front. But aside from Snake and Berita, the chance of betrayal was also high.
It irritated her that although she had accumulated enough money over the last five years to support herself and Chalatta very nicely, she could not access any of it without a palm print, which right now meant she needed the Homelander Front. Working with Snake and Berita tempted her the most, but they imposed a condition for her return that she was not yet willing to pay.
Not yet, Snake.
She needed the Front, if only for the palmfilms. The extra set of prints would enable her to contact her counselor, and from him, access her accounts.
“I know what office assistants make,” she tried again. “Rent on an Inner City apartment will take more than half of what I earn. You’re being unreasonable.”
“We’ll provide the apartment, specially wired for certain services, if we need them.” He shrugged at her glare. “We may not need you for extra activities. The way I understand it, Mason Wester will either want you working on the floor or in the office, not both, so relax, all right?”
"All right." She frowned her reluctance at him. “Why Mason Wester?”
“Because of his high volume of Nevian clients, we need someone with access to his files.”
“And your cut?”
“We’ll only take what you would be paying in rent, nothing extra.”
“That’s still half.”
“It is. Right now you couldn’t afford a hole in the floor, right? The half you’ll be making from Wester will be all yours, no further cuts. As Peeti would say, ‘Solid gold solution.’ What do you say now?”
“I suppose.” What if I want out? But she already knew the answer to that one. No one left the Front, at least not alive.
"Good. We’ll meet once each handspan at The Garden, starting with the top floor. Each handspan we will meet on a lower floor, then back up again. Are you ready to take a look at your apartment?”
A colder wind greeted them with icy whistles as they left the shelter of the restaurant. It blew tendrils of snow around their feet and reached into gaps in their clothing. Karra watched Jem button his jacket and adjust his cap over his dark hair, and wished for a jacket, but true to the part he played, Sami, considered his own comfort first. She entered the airway, grateful for its warmth.
> The apartment, located in a Hostess pad, did not surprise her. Jem seemed to be twisted that way. She guessed he probably owned the Hostess building, and probably the Hostesses who lived in them as well. Very like the King, she thought, he traded in human flesh, and thought nothing of it. He had tried several times to get her to use her yellow certificate from one of his apartments, but Karra had always refused to be owned by anyone.
Until now.
Jem unlocked the door for her and handed her two keys. “Front door and storage unit,” he explained. “Showtime’s at eleven hundred. Meet you outside the King’s Palace.” He winked at her.
Chapter 15
The apartment was divided into two rooms, aside from the bath. One corner of the front room contained a bit of a kitchen, complete with a table and two chairs. An overstuffed couch piled with huge fluffy pillows edged one side of a white, shaggy carpet that was supposed to suggest fur of some kind. The white carpet crept halfway up one wall, giving Karra a claustrophobic feel. She decided to fill that wall with a bookcase to hide the overwhelming pile of the rug. A screen and entertainment center filled up the other wall in the front room. In the bedroom she found the largest round bed she had ever seen. Although the carpet was in the same long white pile, the bed’s spread and the curtains at the window were a nauseating pink. That would soon change, Karra decided, planning something far more subdued. When she tried on the clothes in the closet, she found they fit perfectly, of course. Jem had been planning this. He had chosen a surprisingly conservative wardrobe for her. Odd, she thought, considering that Hostesses were, by profession, rarely conservative.
In the drawers, she found a collection of under clothing and nighttime wear, items that were not conservative at all. Well, tomorrow would be soon enough to consider the changes she wanted to make, if she did indeed get the job as Mason Wester’s office manager. Tonight she planned to take a long, hot shower. Soap and hot showers were two of her favorite perks about living in the Inner City.
She studied the identity of Laren Demmita that evening before going to bed. By morning, she planned to be Laren.
Let me help you, the beastly schizophrenic voice suggested.
This time she did not try to run, neither did she panic. It was no more than a voice, after all. No invisible beast would make her run into the snow without a jacket, ever again.
Jem saw her the next morning, pleased that she wore her hair carefully arranged in a graceful twist atop her head, and that she had chosen the blue suede cape and matching boots from the closet. The dress, a blue-green wool plaid, peeked from below the hem of the cape, about halfway between her knees and her ankles. Karra lacked nothing when she chose to dress in subdued elegance. Her costume told the bordello owner that she intended to work in his office, not work the floor.
He, as Sami, clothed as an Area spons in imitation gold necklaces, many rings and bright colors, grabbed her arm as if she accompanied him reluctantly, and propelled her inside.
“May I help you?” asked a woman wearing too much makeup and dressed in a shiny aqua gown.
“I gotta see the King,” Sami told the woman, still clutching Karra’s forearm.
“He cannot be disturbed,” she replied, dismissing him with a thrust of her chin.
With his other hand, he grabbed the woman’s wrist.
“I’m telling you, I gotta see the King. Won’t take but a minute.”
As though his touch repulsed her, she jerked her arm away. "I said he cannot be disturbed!"
But Sami was not that easily discouraged. Eyeing a door marked OFFICE at the far end of the room, he strode toward it, dragging Laren with him.
“Hey! You! Where do you think you’re going?” People turned at her shout and stared at Laren and Sami.
Sami and Laren burst into the room, the flustered woman just behind them. They faced the drawn guns of private Security, and froze.
"I'm sorry, Majesty," the woman behind them said.
His Majesty filled the space behind one of two desks in the room. No one sat behind the second desk.
"These two insisted on seeing you," she continued. "I couldn't stop them."
"It's all right, Marleen. I'll take care of them." The King, a huge, fleshy man, turned his attention from the paperwork in front of him. He sent Marleen out with a wave of his hand, waiting until the door shut before he decided to speak. The guards did not replace their weapons.
"So?" he growled. "What do you want?"
"I heard that you needed office help," Sami began, using a desperate salesman's voice. "Take a look at this one. She’s been to school and everything."
"Everything?"
"Yes, Sirra…"
"Master!" he exploded, his full attention on Sami now. "Who do you think you're talking to?"
"Sorry, Master," Sami corrected immediately. "But just take a look at her."
"Very well," the man sighed, rising from his chair. His bulk seemed to fill the room as he stood. He walked around Laren once.
Sami scrambled out of his way.
"I've seen prettier," the King told him. "But her hair is nice. What’s your name, girl?"
“Laren Demmita,” she told him. “I applied as your office assistant last cycle, but I lost my apartment. They didn’t believe Sami was my brother.”
Weston turned his attention to Sami. “She registered?”
“I’m applying for the position of office assistant,” Laren repeated, emphasizing office assistant.
Weston ignored her. “She registered?” he repeated to Sami.
"Show him your papers, Sis," Sami told her.
Laren sighed and took out the two yellow sheets from her purse. “But I also graduated from Artenis Business Academy. I have that certificate too. See?”
Wester glanced through the yellow certificate, which, besides the short biography, also contained her references and an abbreviated medical record. "Good," he muttered, still scanning. "She isn't in bad health, either. You'd be surprised at the freetin’ sass handed me. Some even try to pass off unregistered girls." He jerked his head at Laren. "Registered since you were fourteen?"
She nodded.
"How long did you work it?"
“Finished Basic, then two years through the academy. I graduated top of my class."
“I asked about how long you used your certificate, not how long you went to school,” he exploded.
Laren cringed. “All through school, to pay for it.”
"Really? No, don’t show me your certificate again. You got your transcript?”
“Yes.” She handed him yet another sheet of paper.
He studied it. “Good.” Then he studied her while he addressed Sami.
“What’re you charging for sponsoring her?”
“Fifteen hundred,” Sami said.
"Fifteen? She erren’t but just out of school!" The King boomed a laugh that rang ears.
"What do you say about this, girl?” he said to Laren.
“Give him the fifteen and he’ll stay out of my life,” she told Wester wearing a resigned expression.
“And you believe him?” He shrugged. “I’ll take it out of your check at one hundred a moon cycle. That means you’ll owe me for the next fifteen cycles. You got another apartment lined up?”
Laren hesitated. “Yes,” she, hanging her head. “The only one I could find was a Hostess apartment on the next pad.”
At that Mason roared. “At least if you don’t work out in the office here, you know what else you can do. Here,” he said to Sami. He brought a roll of money from his pocket and peeled off fifteen hundred-note wens.
Sami snatched the money and nearly ran out of the office.
Karra stood very still in the center of the room. Still hanging her head, she appeared to be embarrassed or afraid. In reality she was trying to keep her face straight. The King had bought the whole show. Bubbles of laughter threatened to crack her facade.
"Well, well, sold by your own brother." The King's lips curled into a sneer, his ti
ny, piggy eyes mocked her. "Well, let me tell you what I need. Can you start now?"
"Yes!"
"Fine. Put your cape here,” he said, gesturing toward a closet. “Then take a seat.” He pointed at the small desk along the adjacent wall. Both desks faced the guards at the door. They had put away their guns the minute Sami exited. Evidently they did not consider her a threat.
"Your first job is to read this contract, then sign it." He pushed the document at her.
Karra already knew what it said. The Inner City required its employers to meet certain wage and hourly guidelines, but the contract made the King sound generous. It failed to mention that the law bound him, not the words on paper. Karra signed without comment.
"For the next fifteen cycles, you're my property, got it?"
She nodded. But the word “property” triggered an all-too-familiar emotion. She no longer felt like a person, but an item to be bought and sold. She fought against it, but it seeped into her bones. Her mind insisted she had rights as a citizen, but her body knew her to be a commodity, even if she proved to be the best on the market. She was beginning to feel less and less like an office assistant. As Karra, she could throw out a few expletives and storm away, but as Laren, she was stuck for twelve hours, four days out of every handspan, with this overbearing pig of a man.
“Excellent. Now I want you to know a bit about my organization. Marleen, the woman who tried this morning to keep unwanted people out of my office, is the floor manager. Her main job is to manage the girls. You and she are on equal footing, except that she purchased her freedom years ago and has demonstrated her value in countless ways. You have yet to prove anything to me, and you are of no value to me until you do.
“These men,” he said, gesturing toward the two guards, “are two of eight men that I hire to guard my person and the girls. They obey me completely. If, for example, I merely gesture that you have lost your standing with me, they will eliminate you without a second thought. Do not cross me. Do I make myself clear?”
Her Darkest Beauty_An Alien Invasion Series_The Second Generation Page 14
