by Sean Danker
A good mentor would help with a youth’s studies and give guidance to navigating the frequently choppy waters of gentrified Earth life. The mentor would be the one to teach her charge about sensitive things like politics, sex, and religion.
Salmagard had always believed that, in all the Empire, there was nowhere a finer mentor than Alice Everly. And she believed it now. One conversation in particular was fixed in her mind.
She had been fourteen at the time.
They had been sitting on Salmagard’s balcony at sunset. Alice had promised some VR time with access to her private collection of scenarios in exchange for a perfect score on Salmagard’s upcoming essay on Imperial Law and Skaarvold Interpretation.
“Tessa, Imperial Law is fundamentally simple. Everything is based on what the Grand Duchess believed to be right. In turn, her views on morality and ethics were influenced by her own life, the lives of those she read about, and the laws and sensibilities that had been laid down before her. There are some universal laws, or pseudo-universal ones. Cannibalism. Incest. Even without being taught to do so, we discourage these things. Here on Earth, before the Unification, there was a time when all cultures were entirely separate. It’s remarkable that they had so much in common during that time. People don’t agree on everything, but there are certain concepts of basic decency that we all rally behind, regardless of who we are. And the Grand Duchess’ philosophy is, for the most part, built on what she regarded as decency. Proper treatment of other human beings was her core value. There’s no perfect philosophy, and the Grand Duchess was never arrogant enough to believe she could change that. She just set out to do the best she could. It’s something we should be grateful for. Totalitarian rule wasn’t always a good thing, Tessa. And indeed, there are parts of the universe now where it isn’t. But you’ve grown up here. Not only in the Empire, but on Earth. Not only on Earth, but in a privileged house. You’re not going to truly understand this until you see it up close, but there are people out there who don’t believe what the Duchess believed. People with different values. When you do see them—and if you do enter the Service, as you plan to, it is likely that you will—you must be ready. Yes, yes—you’ve been exposed to entertainment, and you understand the concept of people doing . . . unseemly things. But when you see it, Tessa—when it’s right in front of you—it’s different. You’ll never be ready. It will shock you, but you may not have the luxury of time to be shocked. When that day comes, don’t spend any time thinking about how different those people are. Don’t pity them, don’t resent them; just be thankful, and do what you must. Never hesitate. Hesitation has never brought glory to the Empress. Hesitation has no place, no value in the lives of the gentry. The burden of action is our responsibility as those who lead, Tessa. We are held to a higher standard.”
“Ladies,” Idris said. “Ladies, pay attention. I know you’re awake, and if you’re not, you should be.” He clicked the controller several times, sending brief shocks through both Salmagard and Diana. “Come on. Up. Get up.” He reached down and pulled Salmagard to her feet, then pushed her toward the bed. “Sit. I don’t have all night.” He prodded Diana into place beside her.
They watched as he backed up to the opposite side of the room and leaned against the feed, folding his arms.
“The first thing you need to do is relax. You need to pay close attention and remember everything I tell you—but the most important thing to remember is that I’m not going to kill you. I have no desire to kill you. There’s nothing in it for me if I kill you. Secondly, you will get out of here. You will. You really will—and probably sooner than you think. So if you’re upset, and you probably should be, then you should concentrate on those two things. You get me? Go ahead and nod—I like it when you nod. Makes me feel like I’m being heard.”
Salmagard and Diana nodded.
“You came from Imperial Pointe. You won’t show up at Red Yonder. Forty-eight hours after you don’t show, they’re going to try to contact you. When they fail to reach you, they’ll make a note. Forty-eight hours after that they’ll contact the Evagardian consulate—and probably twelve hours later Imperial Security will start to look for you. So if you’re doing your math, I’ve got you for a little less than a week before I have to get rid of you. If anyone’s expecting you, don’t hold out much hope: they might get the search started a little sooner, but nobody’s going to show up here—not as long as I get you back safe in a timely manner. Are you following me so far?”
They nodded.
“Good. You have to trust me. You have to trust in the fact that I don’t want a serious Evagardian investigation. You’re never going to know where this place is. You’re never going to know who I am. You were asleep when you came here, and you’ll be asleep when you leave. You can tell the authorities anything you want when you’re back out there—none of it’s going to hurt me. You will never see or hear from me again. Sound good?”
They nodded.
“See? We’re working together already. You probably have an idea what I want from you. You’re real imperials. You’re attractive—well, you are,” he said, looking at Salmagard. “And you’re interesting,” he added, glancing at Diana. “I’m sure you already know this, but you people aren’t very popular out here. There are people who don’t like imperials very much. Guys who need a safe, controlled environment to express that. I’m not going to lie to you. They aren’t allowed to really hurt you, but they’re not going to be gentle. That’s the point. That’s what they’re paying for; they have . . . desires and resentment, and you’re going to help them. You don’t have to act. The fact that you’re not here by choice is part of the point. Are you following me?”
They nodded.
He pointed at Diana. “You’re not a team player. You’re going to be tied down the whole time, so you don’t have to worry about anything. Probably blindfolded too; I don’t want anyone seeing those eyes. I know they turn me off. I’ll get you some painkillers or something, make it a little easier for you. You, on the other hand,” Idris said, turning to Salmagard, “are going to have your hands free so you can use them. I’ve got you for less than a week. I don’t have time to train you, and I don’t need to. You know exactly what to do. You’re going to play your role—you’re both going to play your roles—or you’re going to have a hard time. You think I haven’t done this before? You think people haven’t tried things?” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m still here. They aren’t. Don’t try anything. You’ll get through this. It’s less than a week. Are we clear?”
They nodded.
“Good. You imperials are smart. You’re tough—tougher than people give you credit for. Sometimes you have to just bite it. Just put your head down and go forward. Be smart—it’s worth it. When your life’s on the line, anything is worth it. Don’t give me any trouble, and I’ll look out for you. These guys are paying to have you sober, but if we’re on good terms, I can probably slip you something that’s going to make all of this that much easier. So you’ve got something to aim for.”
When Salmagard’s mentor had told her about unseemly behavior from galactics, this probably wasn’t what she’d had in mind. But Alice Everly hadn’t been wrong. She’d called it.
Though her military career had left her no shortage of war stories to share with a young Tessa Salmagard, one experience was missing from Alice Everly’s impressive history: that of being a prisoner. She’d had a full career and never been captured.
Salmagard had less than two weeks of operational time, and she was wearing control cuffs.
Idris pointed at the ceiling. “Follow instructions. Anything we bring you to wear, you wear. Anything your client tells you to do, you do. Don’t worry—they don’t expect you to be experts. If you are, that’s fine. If you aren’t, that’s fine too. They know you aren’t pros.” He looked at Salmagard. “This is your room. Your friend’s going to be next door. As soon as I move you, you’re on the clock. You’r
e going to get cleaned up and changed; then you’re on the job. I’ll give you a little extra time,” he said, pointing at Diana. “For grooming. Relax. We’ve been doing this a while. Lots of girls have been where you are now. The vast—vast—majority of them are out there living their lives. I know what I’m doing. This is a delicate business, but I’ve got it down to a science. Do you understand what I’ve told you?”
They nodded.
“Do you have any questions?”
Salmagard nodded.
“I’m going to let you ask. But don’t waste my time—no insults, none of that. Anything you do that you know I don’t want you to do—that’s just going to get you into trouble. I said I wouldn’t kill you. I didn’t say I wouldn’t hurt you. We clear?”
Salmagard nodded.
He crossed the room and peeled the mute strip from her throat.
“What will happen to the men that were with us?”
“I have no idea. It’s very unlikely that you will see them again. Don’t worry about them. They were your dates, weren’t they? Well, if they care about you, then they want you to live. To live, you obey me for a couple days.” He tapped his chrono. “It’s the only thing you can do for them—minimize your own suffering. And it’s the only thing you can do for yourselves.”
5
I looked as hard as I could, but there wasn’t much to see.
Freeber and Willis led us through a dull corridor into a dull stairwell. An actual stairwell. That struck me as a strange architectural choice. Then they hurried us through another corridor and into a cramped bay where a small tugboat waited.
All the way, Freeber clutched at his face and groaned. Willis said nothing. She had a firm grip on the back of my neck, and her nails dug into my skin. She was furious. Not about Freeber—his injury didn’t seem to bother her much—but about still having me and Sei on her hands. It looked like she’d been hoping to sell us all and be done with it.
The tug’s freight doors were standing open to reveal its bay, the old-fashioned sealing flaps hanging loose.
It wasn’t much of a cargo compartment, but it was obviously what Willis and Freeber called home. There were a table, a lot of trash, a pair of armchairs, and a large sofa that appeared to serve as their bed.
The idea of turning the cargo compartment of a little tug like this into a cozy nest for a couple in business together struck me as terribly romantic. I was a little jealous. In a different life, something like this wouldn’t have been the worst thing I could think of.
“Kneel,” Willis told us, and we obeyed.
Freeber went to the counter, rummaging through cabinets for first aid supplies. I thought Willis ought to at least offer to help him with his nose, but she just stared at me and Sei for a moment, then began to pace, viciously kicking a bottle that was sitting on the floor. It clattered into the bulkhead, then rolled down the ramp and into the dock.
Freeber cleaned the blood off his face, probing tenderly at his nose and wincing. He was tough. Diana had dealt him a blow that probably would’ve put a lesser man in a coma.
He groaned, and his voice came out sounding quite different from when his face had been intact. He coughed. “Christ.” It was refreshing to hear someone swear at an actual deity instead of the Empress.
“What was that?” Willis asked. “She was my size.”
“Strong.” He gasped, knocking back painkillers. “What do I even do with this?”
“Is it broken?”
He nodded, wiping away blood.
Willis seemed to soften a little. “Clean it up. We’ll get it looked at.”
I watched Freeber apply a clear plastic brace to his nose. It sealed in place, immediately frosting over to reduce the swelling.
“That’s a little better,” he said, his voice sounding closer to the way it had before. He looked ridiculous, but a funny nose was better than an openly mashed one. He pulled off his bloody shirt. It wasn’t the tattoos or the muscles that bothered me; it was the scars. They looked brutal. Someone back there had mentioned New Brittia. Freeber certainly looked like the type of guy you’d see in there. And if he was here, that meant he’d gotten out alive. That was rare.
Still shirtless, Freeber took a bottle from a cooler and opened it with a clipper set in the counter. He leaned back and took a long drink. Willis joined him and grabbed the bottle, taking a pull herself.
Together, they stared at us.
Wordlessly, Willis passed the bottle back to Freeber, who pressed it to his eye.
“Your type?” he asked finally.
“Maybe that one,” Willis said, eyeing Sei. “We’re not taking them back. It was too much hassle to get the hauler. I won’t take a loss on this.”
“How? Who’ll take them?”
“I want to try Heimer.”
“What’s he going to do with them?”
She shrugged. “Remember what his wife did at the Bazaar?”
Freeber looked thoughtful. Then he saw her look and sighed.
Willis drove her heel into his foot. Freeber was wearing such massive boots that he probably didn’t even feel it, but he politely pretended to wince. Willis turned and marched into the cockpit. “Let’s just do it,” she called back. “I hate imperials.” Freeber touched the shield over his nose gently, letting out a long breath. He glanced down the passage to the cockpit, looked at us, then moved past us to the doors. The decor in the bay was too eclectic; it was impossible to guess precisely where these two were from.
Sei and I watched Freeber lean on a lever, and the cargo doors began to close, the tracks grinding loudly. We could hear Willis speaking in the cockpit. She was telling someone they were about to take off.
My eyes fixed on the hatch we’d come through, willing it to open, for Salmagard to come charging through—but no such luck.
The cargo doors closed and the pressure in the bay changed. Freeber checked the seal, knocked on the metal, then started to pick up some of the mess. Willis had just tossed aside the bottle after she drained it. I wondered what this place would look like without Freeber to tidy it up.
“Let’s go,” Willis called.
Freeber stopped cleaning and pulled us both to our feet, dragging us into the cramped cockpit. He shoved us into the seats behind the pilot and copilot’s chairs and strapped us in.
Because we had our hands behind our backs, it was not an escapable arrangement. We couldn’t make a play because of the control cuffs; it was that simple. It was frustrating, but there was nothing for it.
I didn’t have time for this.
Heimer. The name didn’t ring any bells with me, but it was a big universe, and the Free Trade sectors were hardly my area of expertise.
At least Sei and I wouldn’t be bored during the trip; there was almost too much to look at in the cockpit. This was an old ship, and though Willis and Freeber clearly didn’t baby it, it seemed to be functioning remarkably well. These two knew what they were doing.
There were knickknacks and mementos, plastic sheets advertising musical concerts—the entire cockpit was like a scrapbook to their travels. There was the preserved head of an animal I’d never seen before mounted on the ceiling, and a holographic AI dancing and twirling across the controls.
I didn’t see any Prince Dalton paraphernalia, but there was a large scattergun wedged between the seats.
Trying not to make too much noise, I tested my restraints. I could lean a little in either direction, but that was all the movement I had. Sei wasn’t much better off.
Willis handed Freeber his headset as he strapped in. Together, they powered up the ship, and I listened to the engine struggle. A little plastic dancing girl in a grass skirt jiggled enthusiastically on the console as the holographic one cartwheeled past it.
The front viewport digitized, and I leaned over to look at the readouts. Fuel, maintenance stats. None of that
would help me. How about a starscape? I couldn’t see that screen.
I kept still as Willis glanced back at us.
Freeber turned on some music, which I was grateful for.
Ahead of us, the bay doors were opening. Willis touched her headset briefly, then finished strapping in and deployed her controls.
Several red warning lights appeared on the heads-up display at the top of the viewport. Freeber absently started flipping switches to erase them.
Maybe these two didn’t know what they were doing.
We began to drift forward. Freeber was doing the flying. Willis slouched down in her seat and put her boots on the console, applying a hypo to her neck. She promptly closed her eyes and lay back.
I was only a little jealous.
We left the bay, and I looked ahead with interest, but I didn’t know what I was seeing. Open space, but no recognizable formations. There was a beacon out there, and a light line, so we were at least near civilization. A moving light was probably a shuttle.
The motion was smooth. Freeber had that look as he piloted the ship: that look that this was all muscle memory. He was good at this. This wasn’t a huge ship, but it wasn’t some tiny skiff either. It wasn’t meant to handle like a shuttle, but Freeber was treating it like one. That took experience and expertise. New Brittia survivor. Skilled with manual piloting. Where had Freeber gone wrong?
If I really craned my neck, the feed from the tug’s rear camera was visible.
I could see the bay doors closing behind us. As we got farther away, the place we were leaving took shape.
It was an asteroid. An asteroid with a brightly lit structure on it and dozens of instantly recognizable ships clustered around it. Lights, signs, and advertisements flashed madly. Figures moved inside an atmosphere bubble.
A fuel post.
