by Sean Danker
They pushed through the packed walkway, where Salmagard’s pistol wasn’t half as good as Diana’s appearance for making people get out of the way.
A screen beside them imploded, and Salmagard spotted another bouncer coming their way, pistol outstretched. She pushed Diana in the opposite direction, and they hurried into the next row. People weren’t exactly panicking, but a few were taking notice and looking around, puzzled. Did they even realize someone was shooting? Chems, ethanol, and loud music were all conspiring to kill any semblance of situational awareness in these people. The flashing lights made it difficult to see, and there were bodies everywhere—it was nearly impossible to spot the bouncers among them.
Salmagard had run a thousand simulated scenarios, covering everything from open warfare to shipboard combat. Many of them were designed to be as chaotic as possible, but they’d never given her any trouble.
Somehow, this was different.
They nearly crashed into the woman with the blue snake; the snake hissed loudly at Salmagard, who recoiled and tripped over her dress. Diana caught her and pulled her between two displays, past the bar, where robotic arms were mixing drinks, oblivious to the commotion.
“What do we do now?” Diana demanded.
“Withdraw,” Salmagard replied. She saw no other option.
More shots rang out and a machine overhead exploded, causing digital credit chits to shoot out across the floor. Someone had spilled a drink on Salmagard, and she smelled of cherries and ethanol. There was a lot of shouting now, and a woman was announcing something over a broadcast—perhaps an evacuation—and still no one had the good sense to turn off the music.
And the bouncers had actually fired at them, even in such a crowded space.
Salmagard didn’t know what she’d expected. She hadn’t given this a lot of thought. It had just seemed like the thing to do.
If she didn’t save the Admiral, who was going to?
The GRs might eventually catch up with Sei, but what if he was separated from the Admiral? What if he wasn’t, and the Admiral was caught and identified? What would the Evagardian authorities do with him?
And who could say what the two of them would have to go through before that happened? It had never even been a question. The situation demanded action.
But what Diana and Salmagard were doing was against all kinds of laws—the victimization they had already suffered, or nearly suffered, didn’t legally justify this action.
It was also very impolite to the people caught in the middle.
Salmagard wheeled around to fire repeatedly into the smart carbon showing mermaids and bubbles, sending ionized gas and coolant across the gaming floor and temporarily blinding half of the casino.
She could hardly expect these galactics to take kindly to what she was doing. Maybe this was what galactics were talking about when they complained about Evagardian entitlement. Maybe they had a point.
One of the dancers in a zero-g bubble stared at them as they sheltered behind a smaller bar near the card tables. A bullet sent a large chunk of the bar’s faux marble top to the floor as dust, and Diana flinched. A bottle burst, and they were sprayed with cheap wine. Diana wiped it out of her eyes and opened her mouth, indignant.
Salmagard grabbed the back of Diana’s jacket and pushed her down, taking aim at a control panel identical to the one Diana had smashed in the private booth. She fired, and the resulting shock wave was every bit as impactful as she’d hoped for.
The dancer dropped to the ground with a cry. Salmagard dragged Diana up and hurried her forward, firing more shots into the air to warn the people ahead—but there were two guards between her and the door, and one of them had a surprisingly large Trigan submachine gun. A few short minutes before, Salmagard would never have believed he might possibly use it with so many people present—but a lot had happened since then.
She detoured into a row of antique pachinko machines, all chiming, ringing, and flashing brightly. Ahead was a carbon-shield viewport. Someone shouted something very rude and threw a tray at her. Salmagard ducked and stayed focused, still moving.
The area wasn’t pressurized; there was an atmosphere field outside that window.
“Can you break that?” she called out over the music.
“Why not?” Diana replied, sounding dazed, still trying to shake off the wine.
Salmagard leveled the pistol at the viewport and emptied what was left of her magazine into it. The rounds didn’t get all the way through, but they left impressive cracks.
Diana pulled free and sprinted forward, sinking low, then launching herself shoulder first at the viewport with everything she had, crashing through it like the fragile glass in the windows of historic structures on Old Earth.
Salmagard dropped the empty gun and vaulted out after her, taking off for the rows of shuttles. She paused at the console to call for the float lift, but Diana wasn’t having it.
“No time,” the pale woman said, grabbing her and effortlessly picking her up. She ignored Salmagard’s dismayed squeak, bounding forward without breaking stride.
Diana leapt with truly impossible strength, then landed lightly on the wing of an Isakan shuttle. Salmagard wrapped her arms around Diana’s neck and held on for dear life; there was an atmosphere field, and gravity, but they were in the phase rows, so there was nothing beneath them but spacecraft. One misstep here could mean literally falling into open space.
Diana’s arms were like steel. She ran the length of the shuttle’s wingspan and leapt to the next one, all faster than Salmagard could run on even ground.
“Are you even human?” Salmagard gasped, trying not to look down.
“Not especially,” the red-eyed woman replied.
9
IT wasn’t the most comfortable ride.
Sei and I were both muted, and control cuffs were not escapable, so there wasn’t much to do except lie there together.
We could feel it when we got moving, and there was a slight tremor, a little hum, and a vague sense of motion. I was glad it wasn’t enough to make either of us sick; that would’ve been awkward.
My situation was gradually deteriorating. Lying in a cargo compartment wasn’t very demanding, but once I was on my feet, I had a feeling the fatigue would be noticeable. I was getting some light chest pains, and that wasn’t a good sign.
It would only get worse, and I was afraid that when the time came to make a move, I’d be too weak, or in too much pain, to be of any use.
This didn’t have to be a crisis. The moment someone took this strip away from my throat, I could ask for help, and I stood a good chance of getting it. If I laid on the drama a bit, I could probably convince these guys that things were a little more urgent than they really were. They wouldn’t want me to die; I wasn’t worth anything dead.
The chems I needed weren’t hard to come by. They wouldn’t have to go to much trouble to help me.
The flyer came to a stop, and the lid opened a few moments later, letting in the rush of noise. I squinted into the light and felt dizzy, looking up at the Bazaar. High, high above, gravity was inverted so that the ceiling a kilometer away was the ground for the people walking on it. It took a lot of fundamental mental adjustment just to be able to look around on the Bazaar without getting a headache, or maybe having a psychotic episode.
It would be easy to erect holographic barriers—barriers that would double as surfaces for even more advertisements—but the Bazaar would never do that. These unobstructed views were part of their brand; they traded on it. They never missed an opportunity to remind people how big it all was, that there was nowhere else you could go to find so much.
As Freeber dragged me out, I could see that this corridor was similar to the one we’d seen earlier. Maybe it was a bit smaller, but otherwise there was no difference, except the ground level for this one was built up much more. High-rise structures ros
e up past us, coated thoroughly in smart carbon displaying advertisements.
This was disorienting. There was no getting used to this. I’d heard that some people used graphics projected directly onto their eyes to limit the stimulus coming in, to make the Bazaar experience easier to handle. I could imagine how that kind of artificial tunnel vision could help.
I’d always wanted to visit the Bazaar, but now I just wanted to leave.
The building directly across from us flashed white, then showed a woman wearing heavy cosmetics and some kind of ceremonial Old Earth garment and eating plant matter. Another structure was displaying cybernetic implants and artificial bodies. A third was showing a colorful wonderland that I could only guess was part of an effort to promote VR or chem use. Or both.
Then Freeber had Sei out of the compartment and standing beside me. A moment later we were being steered toward a door. This part of the station seemed a bit more upscale than what we’d seen earlier; the metal and polymer on display were cleaner, and the design sensibilities in the storefronts and entryways seemed less rigidly utilitarian. There was a little more space. The foot traffic was steady, but not as heavy. Willis and Freeber waited as a small group of young women passed, each of them leading a male android by the hand. Rentals.
Willis shoved us forward when they’d gone, and I took a look at our destination. It was similar to the storefronts that surrounded it, but not quite the same. There were no windows or screens, only a door.
Freeber tried the palm release, but nothing happened. Willis pressed a key on the pad. Several seconds passed, and a light on the door turned green. Freeber tried again, and this time it opened.
It seemed Freeber and Willis were limited to dealing with shadier establishments. All the legitimate businesses would demand the registry that they were clearly so reluctant to pay for.
A powerfully musky scent billowed out of the dim room beyond, enough to make Willis wave a hand and swear.
But not enough to stop her from hurrying in and pulling us after her. She and Freeber seemed keen to stay out of the open. I didn’t blame them; the Bazaar had to be good at enforcing its entry restrictions. These two needed to keep their visit short if they wanted to avoid a fine.
We were in a small waiting room, but the style of it was novel. The walls were paneled with polished wood and dyed leather, all held together with brass studs. It was a nostalgic Old Earth aesthetic intended to convey affluence and masculinity. It was popular in the Commonwealth, as well as in certain parts of the Empire.
The illusion was complete. From the light fixtures to the genuine paintings hanging on the walls in real wooden frames, the room was perfect.
Willis wrinkled her nose.
A man in a suit as old-fashioned as the room was in front of us. I immediately recognized him as an android, though he was clearly high-end.
He gestured gracefully at the couches at either end of the room.
“Please wait,” he said with a flat galactic accent with maybe a hint of ethnic Trigan in it.
My heart sank. More waiting was not what I needed. I tried to get Willis’ attention, giving meaningful looks down, hoping to indicate my mute strip—but she just gave me a warning glare.
Did she think I was making faces at her for my health? Because I was.
There was only one more door, and this one presumably led to the real shop, or whatever this place was supposed to be.
Freeber pushed us onto the sofa and joined Willis a few steps away. The android perched on the other sofa, looking on with a mild expression.
Willis and Freeber conferred quietly.
I was never going to take chems for granted again. Or, better yet, maybe I could just never take them again. This was the second time I’d had to go without them at a bad time.
Chemical dependency had been part of being Dalton. The prince had been a notorious chem abuser and party animal—but his habits hadn’t done me any favors since I got out of the role.
Come to think of it, Dalton hadn’t ever done much for me. I never wanted to be a celebrity. Not that I could blame him.
After all, I’d had to kill him before I could replace him. The one Ganraen Royal that was actually a decent person.
I was getting gloomy. Was it my body chemistry or my circumstances? Being kidnapped and having my plans ruined was more than enough to spoil my mood, so physical illness wasn’t likely to help.
This was a very sensitive time. An important time. The most important time—no, I decided after a moment. That wasn’t true. The most important time of my life had come and gone. I never should have let it go, but how could I have known?
I had only my own conceit to thank for all of this.
In any case, my job was hard enough without people coming along and interfering. Willis and Freeber didn’t understand what they were doing.
If I was upset, I was justified.
After about ten minutes, the inner door opened; then a well-dressed woman crossed the waiting room and left without even glancing at us. The android started to get up, but she was gone before he could say anything.
The inner door sealed shut again immediately.
Willis and Freeber watched it expectantly, but more time passed. I could see Willis getting increasingly annoyed. I was right there with her. If whoever ran this place wanted to get around to us today, that would be great. This place was trying so hard to be classy, and that android was so polite—so clearly no one had thought to program in the detail that letting me sit here and expire was rude.
Willis glared at the android, who didn’t seem to notice. I expected her to go over and harass it, but she continued to wait in silence.
“Please go in,” the android said finally, with another of those little gestures.
Freeber jerked his chin at us, and Sei and I got to our feet.
The room beyond was the same size as the waiting room and done up the same way. Rather than sofas, it had several armchairs.
There was no one there.
A painting on the wall depicted a sailboat on the high sea, obviously meant to be Old Earth, but the artist had forgotten that Old Earth had only one sun.
It was still a nice painting.
“Please make yourselves comfortable,” said a voice. There were audio projectors all over the room. The speaker was an older man with an extremely refined Evagardian accent. I couldn’t say where in the Marragard system he came from, but he had that distinctive lilt. It sounded legit, but it was probably at least partially altered. This guy was a criminal. It didn’t matter how hard he worked to make his front look good—he did bad things.
So of course he disguised his voice. People who do bad things have to hide. Or run.
Freeber and Willis exchanged another look. Willis shrugged.
They seated themselves in the armchairs.
“How can I help you?” asked the voice.
“Trying to get rid of these two,” Willis replied bluntly, looking at me and Sei.
“To clarify, you’d like to trade these two men. As a physical commodity.”
“Yeah.”
“I assume you were referred to me because these men are undocumented? You’ll need to say that part aloud. Also take this opportunity to vocally confirm that you’re not law enforcement officers from any of the agencies listed.”
“Listed?” Freeber raised an eyebrow.
The door opened and the android entered, opening a scroll-type holo.
“We’re not cops,” Willis said, waving him away.
“Where do these men come from? Who are they?”
“Imperials.” Willis crossed her legs, scowling at us. “We got them at Red Yonder.”
“Tourists?”
“I guess.”
“What can you tell me about them?”
“They’ve got spirit,” Willis said. “They’v
e been acting scared this whole time. But they’re not. At least, that one isn’t.” She jerked her chin at me.
Maybe I hadn’t been giving Willis enough credit. I wondered who she was, what she’d done before this. My work history proved that I was at least a competent actor, but she’d seen through me.
“Maybe they think the Empire’s going to come rescue them,” Freeber said.
“Do you think they’re military?” the voice asked. “Or gray area?”
“Honestly, I didn’t want to know,” Willis said, looking tired. “We left their holos behind. No way to know for certain now, unless you want to ask them. I’m ready to swear that one is,” she said, looking at Sei. “Not sure about this other one. I’m thinking not, though. He just doesn’t look it. He looks like Prince Dalton, if that’s worth anything.”
“Fair enough. Mysterious Evagardian men, both young, both physically attractive. Are they likely to be missed?”
“Probably.”
“That is going to hurt your margin.”
“That’s my whole goddamn life,” Willis said tiredly, slouching down and toying with one of her braids. “I don’t care. I just want them gone.”
“What sort of figures were you hoping for? In Free Trade credits?”
“I don’t know. Idris gave us fifteen each for the girls.” Willis rubbed her chin and looked at Freeber. “I don’t think we can get that much for these. No tariffs.”
“Baseline for dirty meat should be around five thousand,” Freeber said.
Willis nodded. “These two should be worth at least double that, though. They’re cute; they’re imperial.”
“An asking price of ten thousand? That’s a little low for my clientele. Let’s stop looking at the undocumented status as a detractor and paint it as a selling point. These aren’t broken-in indentureds; they’re pure, wild imperials. And that’s something I might be able to sell. You said you got them from Red Yonder?”
