Free Space

by Sean Danker

  “I didn’t know,” the big man repeated, ignoring him.

  “I’ve heard that before,” Heimer shot back.

  “Sounds like a personal problem,” Willis said, flicking off her safety. “Make me an offer.”

  Sei and I weren’t in the path of any of these bullets, but with so many guns in such a small space, that didn’t really matter. Sei had gotten very pale.

  “You’re insane. You’re seriously, actually, totally crazy,” Heimer said to her face, “if you think I’m going to do business with you, even if you had something for me that I wanted. Something that made sense.”

  “You think I’m not pissed too?” Willis gave him another maddening look. “She bathes with decon juice. Or I would, if I was her.”

  “I don’t care what she does. But now everyone knows,” Heimer snarled. “This brain-damaged piece of meat.” He wiggled his pistol at Freeber. “Him. Of all people. After the shit they did to him in New Brittia. How’s that make me look? Even if it was just in VR.”

  “Man, you don’t want to know how you look,” Freeber said.

  He was about to do it. Heimer tensed, and I got ready to make my move—but Freeber went on.

  “I was being a woman,” Freeber said. He didn’t say it very loudly.

  The words had a profound effect on the room. I was just grateful for the reprieve. For a moment there, it had looked like someone was going to get shot. Maybe a couple people.

  Willis looked over at him sharply, and Heimer blinked, taken aback. He lowered his gun slightly.

  “Wait. What?”

  “You heard me,” Freeber said, clearly annoyed.

  It wasn’t easy to keep looking scared now. Sei was struggling not to laugh. Of course he couldn’t really laugh—he was muted, like me. But we had to keep our faces serious.

  Heimer stared up at Freeber suspiciously. The big man made an exasperated noise and lowered his gun, spreading his arms. “How am I supposed to know it’s your wife when she looks like Prince Dalton?”

  Willis’ brows rose even higher. This was news to her.

  “I didn’t know it was her until I added her to my friends list after,” Freeber said, putting his pistol away. “Talk to her before you talk to me, jackass.”

  “That’s what you do in VR when I’m not there? Be a woman and hook up with women pretending to be royal dudes?” Willis asked, sounding more impressed than annoyed.

  “How am I going to know if it’s a man or a woman?” Freeber asked her.

  Then he cleared his throat and looked meaningfully at me and Sei.

  Heimer had forgotten us completely. Now he looked over at us and seemed to suppress a laugh. Shaking his head, he used a finger to push the barrel of Willis’ gun away from his face.

  “What do you seriously think I’m going to do with them? Hand them to her and just say, ‘Here, have fun’? You’re both insane. You need to detox. Take them and get them out of here. I don’t want your leftovers. Neither does my wife,” he added, scowling. “We don’t keep indentureds.”

  I felt a pang of disappointment. He wasn’t going to buy us. We had to get away from Willis and Freeber and out of these control cuffs. Or at the very least unmuted so I could tell them I wasn’t well. Otherwise I was just going to die right in front of them.

  “What about for gaming?” Willis asked.

  “What? What does that even mean? This isn’t New Brittia. Is my name Baykara? Go sell them at the Bazaar like everyone else. And get help. You both need help.”

  Freeber and Willis exchanged a look.

  “It was a long shot,” the big man said.

  Willis scowled at Heimer. “Pussy,” she said.

  “Even if I wanted some random guys—for some reason—I don’t know who these are or where you got them. For all I know, you stole them.”

  “Of course we stole them.”

  “See? Do you even listen to yourself talk? I don’t need this. You two are mental. Get out. And don’t come back for a while—you really mess with my thing.” Heimer waved, annoyed.

  The man in the armor firmly shooed us to the door. Willis broke eye contact with Heimer only grudgingly, grabbing my sleeve and hauling me into the corridor, swearing loudly.

  We left the den quickly; Willis seemed to have no desire to linger.

  As we waited outside, she tapped her foot impatiently. The float platform that would take us back to the ship was taking its time. Mentally, I was tapping my foot as well. Time was passing—time I couldn’t afford.

  This place seemed like a good time; maybe, instead of such an obvious destination, I should have brought Salmagard somewhere like this. Somewhere a little less structured, somewhere fun. Not that Red Yonder wasn’t fun.

  No, this sort of place was beneath Salmagard. She didn’t seem to have much reverence for her station, but at the end of the day she was still the real thing. She was willing to push boundaries, not leap over them.

  On the other hand, if I’d brought her here, we probably wouldn’t have been kidnapped.

  Willis looked up at Freeber, who was stonily fiddling with his holo.

  “I didn’t know you liked to be a woman in VR,” she said.

  He pretended to ignore her, tugging at his gloves and checking his chrono. There was a lull in the music, and someone laughed loudly as they entered the den. Above, a Trigan skiff passed low over the asteroid.

  “Don’t think I’m going to just forget,” Willis went on.

  Freeber didn’t reply. It looked like he was sincerely regretting what he’d said in there—but I didn’t think he’d had a choice. If he hadn’t defused the situation, someone could’ve gotten hurt. He wasn’t stupid.

  “What do you look like?” she pressed.

  “None of your business.”

  She reached up and grabbed his ear, twisting fiercely. Wincing, he had to lean over. He reluctantly keyed his holo, calling up an image. His VR avatar was a slim blond with flawless skin and surprisingly realistic proportions. When people could build themselves from scratch, they tended to go overboard. Not Freeber, apparently.

  “When I get a new compatibility ring,” she said, looking at the image, “I’m going in there with you. I’m going to be like a huge muscle-head guy like you, and I’m going to completely take you to station—I’m going to mess you up, pound you to within an inch of your sanity.”

  “Sure you will,” Freeber said, shaking her off.

  “See if I don’t,” she said, folding her arms and sticking out her tongue at him.

  He reached out and tousled her hair. She gave him a look, then noticed that Sei and I were still there. I wondered if we could’ve just slipped away right there.

  “What are you looking at?” she demanded, and slammed her knee into my groin.

  6

  SALMAGARD squeezed tighter, her arm locked around the man’s throat. He was crimson in the face, but she didn’t let up. He didn’t even try to fight back, not really—certainly not effectively. He just pulled at her arm, as if that were going to help. It took about ten seconds for him to lose consciousness.

  She let him fall into the deep carpet. Salmagard was taken aback by how easy that had been. She checked his pulse, then stepped back, dusting off her hands. After a glance at the door, she went into the room’s tiny lavatory. In the display, she saw herself wearing the outrageous lingerie that Idris had ordered.

  It was a bit daring for her sensibilities, but becoming. She wondered if it was the sort of thing the Admiral would like. Not that this was the time to be thinking about that, but adrenaline always had this effect on her. She had to focus.

  She had to find Diana and free her. Then she had to find the Admiral and Sei and free them.

  Salmagard pulled on her dress and left the room, fastening her sash. The corridor was narrow and sterile. She could faintly hear loud music thudding
somewhere overhead.

  Idris had said that Diana would be next door. Left or right?

  Salmagard went to the nearer door and hit the reader.

  Diana was sitting on the bed, wearing the same silly lingerie Salmagard was—but rather than black, hers was red. The pale woman had her face in her hands, and she was weeping noisily.

  Salmagard froze, stricken—had she been too late? She hadn’t wasted any time—and no, she wasn’t too late.

  A man lay on the floor by the wall, which was severely dented. Salmagard didn’t understand.

  “I’m a monster,” Diana moaned.

  Salmagard went to the unconscious client and checked his pulse. He was alive. This room was identical to the one she’d been in, to the last detail.

  “He’s all right,” she said.

  Diana just groaned into her hands.

  “Get dressed. We have to go,” Salmagard told her.

  “I know.”

  She noticed the shackles dangling from Diana’s wrists and ankles.

  She stared at the broken chains, then at the other halves of the four sets of shackles still attached to the bed.

  “Did you—” Salmagard began, pointing, then hesitated. “Did you break those?”

  Diana just covered her head, shoulders shaking.

  Salmagard blinked. “How?”

  The pale woman didn’t answer. Salmagard considered the remains of the shackles and the dented wall. There were explanations, but hadn’t Freeber said Diana’s body wasn’t artificial? She was flesh and blood? That meant she had augmentations. Organic replacement limbs? Had she been injured when she was in the Service?

  Or there were nanomachines that could generate enormous strength; they were used by acolytes and other Evagardian special forces.

  At the moment it didn’t matter. Salmagard had a mission.

  She hesitated for a moment, then moved toward the lavatory door and remembered that Diana’s dress had been destroyed. She rolled the unconscious man over and got his jacket off.

  “Put this on,” she said firmly.

  Diana looked up and seemed to rally. She swallowed and got to her feet, taking the jacket. Her red eyes stared down at Salmagard.

  “What do we do? Call it in?”

  Salmagard nodded. “But we have to go. We have to go after them.”

  “What? Let the GRs do that,” Diana said. She was right—Salmagard had been thinking about Imperial Galactic Rescue too. “That’s their job. This is why they exist. For stuff like this. Stuff exactly like this.”

  “No, it has to be us. There’s no time. They’ll disappear out here,” Salmagard told her. “You call for help. I’ll go. I’m in the Service. I’m a negotiator.”

  “No, I’ll come,” Diana said quickly. “I’m—I’m a vet. Let’s just get out of here. I don’t like this place.”

  Salmagard looked up, then at the door. No one was crashing in, pointing guns at them, or trying to get them back under control. “I guess they’re not watching.”

  “Of course not. Nobody would pay to . . . do stuff to us if there were creepers looking.”

  Salmagard eyed the door. “Can we walk out?”

  “Do we even know what this place is?” Diana was waking up quickly. “Doesn’t feel like planetside. Can’t be.”

  “I heard music out there. There’s something above us.”

  Diana looked down at the broken shackle hanging from her slender wrist. Her eyes hardened.

  “Let’s go see,” she said.

  They went out into the corridor. The door at the far end opened, and Idris emerged, shrugging into his blazer. He froze at the sight of them.

  Salmagard sprinted forward at top speed, or as close to top speed as her dress would allow, but he was too fast. Idris retreated back into the room and slammed the door with a bang.

  Salmagard reached it and pushed, but it was secure. He’d managed to lock it. Then Diana was there. She touched the plastic, then hauled back and struck it with both palms, knocking it from its fastenings and sending it toppling into the room.

  Salmagard didn’t question what Diana had just done; she launched herself through the doorway blind. Idris was behind the desk. He was speaking rapidly into his holo, but as the door crashed to the floor, he dropped it and went for a pistol resting on his console. Salmagard vaulted onto the desk, snatching the gun away and kicking him squarely in the chest. The impact sent him staggering back, past his chair and into the wall. As he struggled upright, he found himself looking at the muzzle of the gun.

  “Take off your trousers,” Diana said, picking up the door.

  He stared, Adam’s apple bobbing.

  Salmagard gave him a meaningful look, and prodded his face with the pistol.

  With jerky motions, he undid his belt and obeyed. Diana put the door more or less back in place, then picked the trousers up and pulled them on, cinching the belt tight around her bony hips. She cleared her throat. “What did you do with our friends?”

  “I didn’t take them,” Idris said. His eyes were crossed, fixed on the gun. “Willis and Freebs still have them. They’re gone.”

  “Where did they go?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t. They’re not my people.”

  Salmagard pressed the pistol into his eye, then pulled it away and grabbed him by the collar, pushing him facedown on the desk. “Hold him,” she said to Diana, who wedged her elbow against his neck and leaned in, making him gasp in pain.

  Salmagard’s eyes fell on a little pile of items on the desk.

  The contents of their pockets. Her own holo, and Diana’s. The Admiral’s. Sei’s.

  The Admiral’s hypos.

  The Admiral’s hypos containing the antidote to the poison that was still in his system.

  Salmagard snatched them up and shoved them into her sash. She tucked away the pistol and grabbed Idris’ right hand. Without hesitation, she broke his little finger. He cried out, but Diana gave her elbow a hard shove, choking the breath from him.

  One at a time, Salmagard snapped all five of his fingers. Then she went back and broke them all again at the second knuckle. Time was an issue, so this would be an expedited interrogation. Salmagard had never had formal training on this topic, but she could improvise.

  Diana had to grip his face tightly and hold him down hard as Idris tried to thrash his way free.

  Salmagard circled the table and bent over to get eye level with him.

  “Where would they have gone?” she asked, picking up his other hand.

  “The Bazaar,” Idris croaked, tears running from his eyes. “Heimer’s place? The Flashbulb? Rosario’s? I don’t know.”

  Diana took Idris’ holo off his wrist. She grabbed him by the hair.

  “This has to be some kind of station. You’ve got a shuttle, haven’t you? Where is it?”

  “The first bay,” he ground out.

  “You said the Bazaar,” Salmagard said, getting his attention. “The Bazaar?”

  “Of course,” Diana said. “We’re going to borrow your shuttle. You don’t mind, do you?”

  Idris opened his mouth, and she smashed his face on the desk, knocking him out cold.

  “Trick question,” she said, letting him slump to the floor.

  “How do we fly the shuttle without him?” Salmagard asked, aghast.

  “I’m a pilot. Well, I used to be.” Diana held up his holo. “Is that our stuff? Let’s go. What’s in those sketchy hypos?”

  Salmagard hesitated. “Medicine.”

  “Yours? Or your boyfriend’s?”

  She hesitated, but only for a moment. “His.”

  “Then we better get a move on. We have to get the GRs on this. This is what they do.”

  Imperial Galactic Rescue was a small branch of the military exclusively dedicated to extrac
ting Evagardians that got into trouble outside imperial space.

  They were one of the most glamorous units in the Service, getting the same kind of recognition as the elite guards and acolytes from Valadilene. There was no shortage of dramas and stories dedicated to their exploits, and it wasn’t uncommon for Evagardian children to grow up dreaming of being one of them. Salmagard had no doubt that they were extremely good at their job.

  But they couldn’t perform miracles.

  And the Admiral wouldn’t want to be found by the military. She had to try to help him avoid that. She didn’t know what they would do with him if they got their hands on him, but he’d been willing to flatline to shake them off, so he obviously felt strongly about it.

  And Salmagard knew firsthand that Evagard had tried to kill him before.

  “They won’t get to them before we do,” Salmagard told Diana. “We can notify them, but we’re already here.”

  “I’ve heard the window for getting people back in this kind of situation is pretty small,” Diana said, frowning. “Or maybe I saw that in a drama. But we should go.”

  They gathered their things and left the office.

  It took several minutes to locate the shuttle bays. There were only two of them, but there was quite the little warren of sublevels beneath whatever stood on top of Idris’ dungeon.

  Idris’ personal shuttle was an Isakan model, a civilian flyer for personal use. It was shiny red, and it looked as if someone took meticulously good care of it.

  His holo granted them access and launch permissions.

  Diana said she was a pilot; Salmagard had to trust her. She certainly couldn’t fly a shuttle. She could barely manage a personal flyer. Though, with the Admiral’s coaching, she had piloted an aircraft once, however briefly.

  She shuddered at the memory.

  Her heart thudded as she followed Diana up the ramp, expecting an alarm, or something—anything to indicate that their escape was an issue for Idris or the people who worked for him.

  But there was nothing. There hadn’t been a single person in the halls. Security measures intended to stop them had been conspicuously absent every step of the way. Maybe all Idris’ talk of how he had his business down to a science was just that: talk. Bluster. A bluff to keep his frightened victims in line. Salmagard didn’t know which was worse: that he would rely on such tactics, or that they had apparently worked for him for this long.