by Sean Danker
“Yeah.”
“Let’s twist that a little. We’ll try valuing them at fifty each.”
Willis looked impressed. “You think they’re worth that much?”
“To the right individual, I’m sure they are. An individual who’s looking for a very exact experience. An individual with refined tastes and habits. An individual with a lot of money but not a lot of time. Someone who likes attractive young men, but not so much that they need those men to return the sentiment. I think there may be someone here at the Bazaar right now who might be interested. Good news for you. Not for these two.”
10
“YOU’RE just lucky you’re not a first daughter. My family never would have let me become a pilot. Particularly not for an experimental spacecraft. They only encouraged me to join because it was all but guaranteed I’d be a part of a ceremonial detail.”
“I know.” Diana sat back from the controls, gazing through the viewport. “I’m no different. I wasn’t meant to be a fighter pilot; it’s because of the aptitude testing. They got people from all different career fields. If you’d shown the stuff they were looking for, they’d have offered it to you. You’re lucky.”
Idris’ shuttle was quite comfortable, and Diana seemed pleased with its performance. It must’ve cost a fortune.
“And there was action on your first tour?” Salmagard asked. There was a scratch on one of her jade combs, probably from shrapnel during the shooting. She kept fidgeting with it. Though the shuttle was actually traveling very fast, the ride was smooth, and it appeared sedate. It felt slow. That bothered her. She was in a hurry.
“Yeah,” Diana replied, sighing. “You know, you look so much like the Duchess that you could almost be one of the face kids.”
Salmagard turned to her, taken aback. “You know about that?”
“Of course. I’m one of them,” Diana said. She cocked her head. “You’re saying that you are supposed to be the Duchess?”
“Well—well, I resemble her,” Salmagard said, taken aback. “I was modified.”
Diana shook her head and went back to gazing at the stars. “What are the odds? I’m one of the ones that didn’t make it.”
“Sorry,” Salmagard said on reflex.
“What?”
“I’m just—I’m looking.”
Scowling, Diana turned to face Salmagard, putting on a patient expression.
“I know I don’t look like much anymore,” she said, obviously self-conscious. Salmagard knew this was rude, but she couldn’t help herself. As Diana had said, the odds were astronomically against the two of them meeting by chance. She had to know.
Salmagard stared at her intently. Diana’s face was thin and her cheeks were almost sunken—but flesh her out a bit, change the eyes from red to green . . . add some color to the lips . . .
Take the black hair and make it blond. Straighten it. Add an inch of height. Round out the hips, swell the bosom.
Her jaw dropped.
“You’re the Disciple,” she said, eyes wide.
Diana cleared her throat and looked away. “Good eye. A lot of people didn’t see it. Even before this. And people don’t know her face—not the way they know yours. And the Heir and the Guardian. But before—once in a while someone would spot it.”
“Do you have her genes?”
“A little bit somewhere. I don’t know if they’re legit or not.”
“By the Empress.”
“Do you know anything about her? The Disciple?”
“Only what I learned in school,” Salmagard said. Though the legends of the Heroes of the Unification weren’t exactly treated as history lessons, they were ubiquitous. Every Evagardian youth was exposed to them at some point.
New dramas about them were released regularly across the galaxy; buildings, cities, and stations were named after them.
And a handful of people had been given their faces—the well-intentioned but asinine gimmick of an initiative to promote class diversity in the Service.
Diana’s eyes were flat. “You and everyone else. Historical perspective is a hell of a thing.”
Salmagard blinked. She supposed she couldn’t argue that.
“Still, it’s an honor for your family to be selected. What line are you?”
“Kladinov. Kladinova for women. You?”
“Salmagard.”
“I’ve heard of you.”
“I’ve heard of you.”
“I think some of your cousins are supposed to be on my list—you have some extended family on Lyragard, don’t you? Or they were on my list before I messed up my genes. Look, you’re being polite, and I appreciate that. But I can’t tell you why I’m like this. I’m not allowed; Third Fleet would crucify me. Let’s just say it’s my own fault.” Diana rubbed at her eyes. “And he just let me do it.”
“I won’t ask. The GRs are mobilizing,” Salmagard said, checking her holo. She was taken aback; this was an impressively fast response. “They don’t want us to move in without them.”
“They wouldn’t care if we weren’t liners. Tell them to go to hell. If they want to get there first, they can be our guests, right?”
“I agree completely,” Salmagard murmured. The notification didn’t actually call for a reply, and she preferred not to send one. The GRs wouldn’t reach the Bazaar for hours. They were making a good effort, but it wasn’t enough. Not for Salmagard.
There was no time to spare, and the two of them were only minutes out.
“What is it?” Salmagard asked. This time it was Diana who was looking at her.
“I’m worried too.”
“He’ll be all right,” Salmagard told her, a little irked at being read so easily. “As long as we can get to him soon. Both of them.”
For a moment, Diana said nothing. The shuttle was flying itself, and she absently watched the readouts. Finally she glanced over.
“He looks good in black,” she said.
Salmagard smiled. “White too.”
“It’s risky, though.”
“What is?”
“I know you don’t plan to marry him, but guys like that are bad for your prospects.”
“More than you realize,” Salmagard replied. Diana hadn’t believed her when she’d said the hypos had medicine in them. She thought the Admiral was a chem abuser.
Diana raised an eyebrow, impressed. “Is it serious?”
Salmagard was suddenly uncomfortable. She didn’t have a good reply for that.
Diana cocked her head, giving her a maddening look. “First daughter falls for a guy that’s no good? We’ve both seen that holo drama before.”
Salmagard cleared her throat. “I don’t know him very well.”
“Well enough to know he’s trouble.”
She hesitated. “He did something bad.” She hesitated. “But he’s not bad.”
“Are you an empath?” Diana asked.
“No.”
“Then how do you know? Look, it’s okay to fall for these guys—you just have to quit while you’re ahead.”
Salmagard twitched. “I haven’t fallen for anyone,” she said. “We went through a lot together. I owe him.”
“You owe him enough to risk your place in line?”
“I owe him my life.”
“So?”
“You should understand. You know what’s expected of us. We can’t leave debts unpaid.”
“We aren’t supposed to have debts,” Diana pointed out. “They are supposed to be indebted to us.”
Salmagard swallowed. That was quite true, and something she was keenly aware of. Her grip on her armrest tightened. No one had ever promised her that the expectations placed on Evagardian women of noted bloodlines were reasonable, though. Indeed, Alice Everly often bemoaned them.
Diana shook her head suddenly. “What am
I saying? I’m just a mess because I got passed over for a woman with no blood, no history. Nothing. You should go for it. Forget your line. If you like him that much, just do it. Who am I to give advice? Look at me.”
“I never said I wanted that,” Salmagard pointed out.
“What does he want?”
“What?”
“He knows who you are, doesn’t he? What does someone like that expect from you?”
Salmagard swallowed. She opened her mouth, but a warning began to flash.
“What’s that?”
Diana called it up. “Huh,” she said.
“Well?”
“Someone’s targeting us.” She grabbed the controls and took manual control, throwing them into a dive. She locked in her course on the display, then throttled up. Salmagard felt the sudden jerk and grabbed her straps to make sure they were secure.
“EMP nodes,” Diana noted, flipping a switch. The readouts dimmed slightly, and more warnings appeared.
“What?”
“Pretty much the only ship-to-ship weapon that’s legal for these people,” Diana explained. “What? I’m a fighter pilot. I have to know these things. The launcher’s got six barrels because it shoots really fast, and it launches these little nodes that release an EMP in your ship and disable you . . .”
“Not that,” Salmagard snapped, seeing the red light now blinking on the scanner. “Who are they?”
“Idris’ guys? That guy back there? What was his name? Heimer? His guys? Take your pick,” Diana said, rolling her eyes. “We’re not making friends out here, sweetheart. Oh—now they’re shooting. Okay, boys. Have you ever danced with an Everwing in the pale moonlight?” Her red eyes lit up. “Of course,” she added, looking annoyed, “this isn’t an Everwing.”
Salmagard squeezed her eyes shut and held on.
Diana didn’t sound even slightly concerned. And she was right: Salmagard had been so fixated on her timetable, on the Admiral, on the mission of rescuing him before his need for his antidote became terminal, before the GRs got to him, before he was forced into something horrible—that she had almost forgotten what she’d done in the gambling den.
“Empress.”
“What?” Salmagard asked without opening her eyes, feeling the shuttle shake.
“Well, it’s just— This is a shuttle, not a fighter. And it shows, you know? She handles like a . . . I don’t know. It’s just kind of sad. I feel like I did at my first formal. I had to wear this dress with a malfunctioning temperature control, and it was tight, the collar was choking me, and I almost passed out. Worst night of my life.” Diana made a disgusted noise, then went on complaining. “Trying to do a coffee ceremony with all my aunts there watching my every move. I still have nightmares about it. You’re lucky. Things are different on Old Earth. The stuff we get up to on Lyragard . . . sometimes I wish I was just some no-blood girl in a sustenance pod trying to get an apprenticeship. I could just play Five Husbands all day. But no, I had to join the Service. I had to go kill pirates and get passed over by guys who shouldn’t even be allowed to breathe the same air you and I do.”
Diana babbled on, all the while diving and banking. Wild streaks shot past the viewers. Salmagard made a strangled noise and tried to control her breathing.
“And it’s not like I really blame him,” Diana added. “Or her— Well, no. I do blame her, because that’s fraternization no matter how you look at it, and that’s really bad. Yeah, he had his little informal commission or whatever, but he wasn’t really an officer. They hooked up so fast after we got back that there’s just no way—no way—that she wasn’t totally into him on the ship. I mean, I don’t really know what went on between them. Don’t look at me like that,” Diana said, glancing over at Salmagard. “It’s not what you think. It’s not like I was in love or anything.”
The shuttle shuddered violently, but Diana just kept talking.
“It was just my ego, I guess. You know? Because he was my partner; it was just the two of us—we were the only two-man cell, and I guess I just sort of felt possessive, like I should have first dibs. Who poaches in a situation like that? Who does that? That’s why I’m mad, not because of bleeding-heart stuff. I mean, you can’t really fall for someone on a combat mission like that, especially with your implant on. Or I don’t think you can. Or you shouldn’t. I don’t know. I guess you can. It’s not like I didn’t like him.”
Salmagard didn’t know what to say to any of that. She wasn’t really listening.
“Will you open your eyes? You’re stressing me out. I know how to fly, Tessa. Just relax.”
She reluctantly opened her eyes. They were barreling toward the Bazaar at a truly irresponsible speed.
“How is this going to end well?” Salmagard demanded, pressing herself back against her seat, clutching the safety handle.
The Bazaar was gigantic, and growing dizzyingly fast.
“See that?” Diana pointed, banking. “That’s a radiation bleed. There’ll be lots of bays in there. We’ll find an open one, and that’s our way in. All we have to do is stay ahead of this guy.”
The shuttle rolled, and Salmagard clearly saw more tracers fly past.
“They’re really shooting at us,” she said.
“If you don’t shoot, you’ll never score. Trust me, I know.” Diana made another sound of disgust. “I can’t even deal with it anymore. Can I just spend the rest of my life in bed and never come out? I’ll just go into VR forever. I don’t care what my family says—not that they’re speaking to me. I mean, look at me. Oh, Diana, why would he pass you over for an older woman with nothing to offer? Why do you think?”
“Can you focus? Please?” Salmagard was sweating.
“I’ve got it. Relax.”
“You’ve done this before.”
“This? No, not really. But this kind of flying . . . it’s so slow that it’s more like playing chess. I’ve got all day to stay ten moves ahead. It’s too easy. Kind of stupid, really. I mean, what’s the point? And Sei doesn’t understand, obviously. He’s clueless.”
Ships, waypoints, signs, advertisements, guide paths—they were all flashing past the shuttle in a blur.
“This is slow?” The shuttle’s buffers were doing a good job counteracting the force from their extreme speed, but Salmagard still felt a tug at her core.
Diana shrugged. “Compared to a fighter. We’re barely moving.” Diana wasn’t kidding. She had only one hand on the stick; she was rubbing at her eyes with the other.
The red-eyed woman looked bored.
More warnings flashed on the screen, but Diana ignored them. Salmagard saw indications that there was incoming fire, that they were moving at illegal speeds, that they were performing illegal maneuvers, and that they were in violation of Free Trade law and Bazaar regulations.
More lights joined the chaser on their tail on the scanner. It was at least a dozen vessels, all of them moving faster than the shuttle, closing in visibly.
“Are those Bazaar enforcers? They’d better be. But are they after us or him? It’s got to be against the rules for him to shoot at us this close to the station, right?” Diana wondered aloud, throwing them into a spin that made Salmagard feel physically ill. She covered her mouth and shut her eyes again, praying to God and the Empress. “No time to do it the right way; these guys probably have the law on their side since you shot up that casino,” Diana said.
Salmagard chose not to comment on Diana’s decision to exclude herself from responsibility on that one. She was afraid that if she opened her mouth, she’d be sick.
“If they EMP us and board, the cops can’t do anything about it—they’ve got first claim. Free Trade law is the worst. Hey—once we do get in there, you better be ready to run. Because we’re not going to want to be anywhere near this shuttle when Bazaar security gets to it,” Diana said, taking a hand off the stick to shake it. H
er knuckles popped alarmingly.
They shot underneath the station, and Diana flipped the shuttle so that they were abruptly above it, skimming a mere ten meters from the surface of the cube. More warnings strobed madly on the display. The shuttle was traveling faster than it was supposed to; Salmagard could hear the chassis groaning under the strain from the overheating engines.
A deep trough lay ahead. Diana pulled right, then spun out and in, turning the shuttle sideways to fit. Now the impression of speed was even more pronounced. The walls streaked past like gray liquid.
“You know, he’s not bad to stay with me for this long,” Diana said, watching the rear feed. Salmagard didn’t think she was talking to anyone in particular at this point. “But he’s not good either.” She pulled up sharply, taking the shuttle in a dizzying loop that terminated with them racing toward a glowing bay.
Diana killed thrust and did an emergency burn on the starboard side, sending the shuttle into a wild spin. She hit thrust again, now with the shuttle facing the opposite direction, using the engines to kill the momentum as they entered the bay.
The impact was jarring, but Diana had lessened their speed to the point that it was little more than a series of hard bumps, then a terrible grind as the shuttle slid across the bay floor, leaving wide molten gouges behind it.
They screeched to a stop. Coolant was venting all over the bay.
The chaser had vanished from the scanner. The Bazaar security ships hadn’t, but Diana had left them all behind, and they had some catching up to do.
Salmagard stared straight ahead, frozen. She was shaking all over, feeling a terrible chill. Salmagard wondered if she could walk.
“We’re here,” Diana said.
11
SEI and I were in the cargo space of the borrowed flyer again.
The words of the bodiless Evagardian voice in that stuffy, old-fashioned room hadn’t set us up for a relaxing journey. He hadn’t pointed out anything we couldn’t have guessed for ourselves about the sort of people who would want to buy us, but it hadn’t felt good to hear it all laid out that way. We didn’t need to be reminded that it was probable someone would only want us so they could mistreat us, in all likelihood simply because we happened to be imperials.
