by Sean Danker
I didn’t like Frontiersmen. I never had. Their planets were all right, and it wasn’t even their culture that bothered me, but I couldn’t stand the people. Even as Dalton, I’d made a point of avoiding them when I could. In my years as a Ganraen Royal, I’d traveled to the Frontier system only twice, and both times I’d visited only New Earth.
Every visit had made my opinion of those people lower. The sentiment wasn’t rational, and I knew it. The people I encountered, my experiences and impressions—they weren’t properly representative of Frontiersmen as a whole. My judgments were unfair. But that didn’t change anything.
I couldn’t stand those people.
But I still wasn’t going to buy them on the black market and treat them poorly just to get it out of my system.
I was starting to develop some pretty negative feelings about Free Traders too, but that was a common enough prejudice wherever you went.
Free Traders weren’t all criminals, but criminals were all I’d seen lately. It was skewing my perception, and the poison was killing my mood even faster than it was killing the rest of me.
I decided to think about Salmagard instead. She wasn’t in any real danger; Idris hadn’t given any indication that he knew that he had Service members on his hands, so her ability to handle herself would take him by surprise. I had no doubt that Salmagard could deal with people of Idris’ caliber with ease, and she had Diana with her. I didn’t know the pale girl’s story, but I remembered the way she’d opened that bottle of Evagardian Ale and drained it. On that alone, I suspected she was someone that was better to have on your side.
Salmagard would escape from Idris and make for the nearest Evagardian consulate, and that was all well and good. She knew better than to send GRs after me, but there were also Diana and Sei to consider. Diana would want help for Sei, and she wouldn’t have much sympathy for my unique circumstances. Salmagard would agree that rescuing Sei trumped being considerate of me—and rightfully so. So rescue was on the way. Well, rescue for Sei. Trouble for me.
But the GRs probably wouldn’t know they were looking for me. If they did manage to rescue us, I might have a chance to slip away before they identified me. I just had to hope I had enough strength for it when that time came. I couldn’t let the GRs treat me—doing so would expose them to my DNA, which was flagged on every watch list in the Imperium. It would reveal that I was still alive, and I wouldn’t be in any position to get away. The GRs were good at chasing people.
The latent poison in my system was starting to approach the severity of the detox I’d dealt with on Nidaros.
I thought about how I would handle Freeber, if that was what it came to. He was massive and strong. Willis wasn’t helpless either. Even if I was healthy, a physical confrontation wouldn’t be practical.
If things got ugly, maybe Sei would help.
The flyer came to another halt, and in moments we were being pulled out and dragged to our feet. We were in a covered vehicle repository. Very clean, very quiet. The other flyers around looked expensive. This was a hotel. I’d seen plenty of places like this as Dalton. I rarely got to go in anywhere through the front while the war was on.
Doors at the far end led to a lobby, but Freeber and Willis had other ideas. We entered a service stairwell. They were avoiding the surveillance in the elevators, which would probably scan their faces and check for codes.
It was a long climb. I lost count of the flights, but it had to be close to twenty.
We were still far from the top when we stopped, and not one of us was breathing normally. I considered just dropping on the spot and forcing them to address the state of my health—but Willis could probably think I was faking, and if she beat me up I’d just be that much worse off when the time came to do something.
Willis wiped her brow with her sleeve and swore under her breath.
She and Freeber both checked their weapons, then opened the door and moved into the corridor, pushing us ahead of them.
This was a nice hotel. The floor was smart suede, and the walls were infused carbon, refracting light to creating calming, shifting hues. Somehow, the color scheme created the illusion of openness and space, as though there were skies and oceans beyond these walls instead of metal and vacuum. Quiet music played, and that was the only sound. These rooms were absolutely soundproof.
I wasn’t sure that was a good thing, considering.
We halted at the door at the very end of the hall: a suite. A night in there probably cost as much as a night at Red Yonder. I’d heard housing costs were outrageous in the Bazaar, so lodging was probably inflated too.
Willis hit the door chime, and several moments passed.
The door opened, revealing a woman around Willis’ age who clearly took much better care of herself. She was wearing slacks and a blouse. Her hair was damp, as if we’d pulled her away from the heater she’d been using to dry it. She was tying her hair back with a silk ribbon and holding a jeweled clasp in her mouth.
“Come in,” she said around the clasp, stepping aside without pausing her tying. Freeber pushed us over the threshold; then she nudged the door shut with a hip and put on the hair clip. It looked nice.
She had a few glossy highlights in her hair, which was otherwise an unremarkable brown. Her skin tone suggested a life without too much exposure to UV light, but she was obviously in good health.
The woman dried her hands on a kerchief, then stepped up to me and took my face in her hands, probing in a businesslike fashion. She was searching for implants. She ran her fingers through my hair, poked around in mouth, and gazed into my eyes.
Then she patted me down, very thoroughly. I didn’t know if she was searching for concealed weapons or more implants, checking my physique, seeing if I had all the required parts, or just feeling me up because she felt like it. If she was hoping for a reaction, I didn’t give her one.
“Okay,” she said, and moved to Sei. She repeated the process with him, and he bore it stoically. He was a pilot, so he’d been trained to deal with capture by enemy forces. This wasn’t exactly an enemy force, but many of the same principles applied.
It was hard to view this woman as the torture-happy slave-owning type; she looked ordinary enough to me. And there was nothing to say that she was that type; the disembodied voice in the room of the procurement agent had simply implied that someone who would want two nonconsenting undocumented imperials was likely to be the type to treat his or her things roughly.
“No one mentioned that this one prefers men,” she said, stepping back from Sei. So she was an empath. And an extremely good one; she was making calls on us after a few minutes of inspection. That was fast.
“We didn’t know. Does it matter?” Willis asked, annoyed.
“It does. We won’t take that one.” She turned her attention back to me. “But this one has potential.” She looked into my eyes again. “Though he’s a mess in here,” she said, prodding my forehead with a finger. “Give me one second.”
She disappeared into the bedroom. Willis put her head back and mouthed some swearing.
The woman returned donning an earpiece, the sort that was for secure business use. She touched it, and I realized she was streaming a feed to someone else.
“Yes,” she said. “Good all around. Lot of scarring.” Was she talking about me? I didn’t have any scars. “Complicated.” That struck me as an interesting thing for her to say. I wondered if I ought to be flattered.
I was out of my league.
“Could be a keeper,” the woman went on. “In fact, I think he was made for you. He’s not well, but it seems to be chemical. Can we have the clothes off?” This was directed at Willis.
“Sure. But if you want a test drive, it’ll cost you.”
“No need—that’s not what we want him for.”
Willis cocked her head. “Then what’s wrong with this one?” She pointed at Sei.<
br />
The woman gave her a look, then touched her ear. “And never mind on the clothes,” she said, then went back to walking her slow circle around me. She came to a stop, locking eyes with me yet again. Whoever was watching this stream was looking at my face.
I couldn’t help but be curious. I wanted to know who was out there thinking about buying me. And what they had in mind for me. The GRs weren’t a sure thing, but they were good at their job, and I didn’t know how good Willis and Freeber were at covering their tracks. If the GRs were going to show, assuming Salmagard had escaped from Idris promptly, then it was probably only a matter of hours.
A lot could happen in that amount of time if I was sold to someone unwholesome, and if there was such a thing as prime escape condition, I wasn’t in it. And that annoyed me, because getting out of bad situations was something I was actually pretty good at. It didn’t seem fair that I was being held back by a mute strip. My voice was my best weapon.
The woman’s expression, which had been one of mild disinterest, turned to surprise. Her eyes fixed on me, and now they were much more thoughtful. I was dying to know what she was hearing.
“Is he really?” she asked, glancing away. She took a step back from me, and something passed across her face. Fear? It was gone too quickly to be sure.
I smiled at her.
“Okay,” the woman said, tearing her eyes away from me. She smoothed her blouse and addressed Willis. “This one’s no good either,” she said. “Sorry. I can’t take either of these. And they are illegal—I have to ask you to go.” She walked briskly past us and opened the door, holding it open.
For a moment I thought Willis might explode and make a scene, but she recovered quickly and simply stalked out. Freeber grabbed me and Sei, nodded politely to the woman, who bowed. He guided us into the corridor.
Willis made straight for the lift; she didn’t want to deal with all those stairs back to the vehicles—she didn’t care if it was risky. For once, Sei, Freeber, and I were all thinking the same thing: that right at this moment, we did not want to be in a lift with her.
Willis obviously wasn’t worried about Bazaar authorities right now.
We rode down in silence. Me and Sei, because we were muted. Willis, because she was fuming. Freeber, because he didn’t want to make her any angrier. Sei and I hadn’t been professionally or romantically involved with Willis for a long period of time—as Freeber clearly had—but it was equally obvious to us that anything that anyone said would set her off. None of us wanted that. I was dying. I didn’t need this drama.
We followed her as she stomped off toward the flyer. When she reached it, she just bent over, laying her cheek against the metal of the cargo lid and letting out a long, frustrated groan.
It echoed through the repository. We could vaguely hear the noise of the station, but it was still pretty quiet. The place had interesting acoustics—or maybe that was my ears. What would Willis and Freeber do if I really did pass out? Probably just dump me down the nearest exhaust vent.
A woman paused in the act of getting into her flyer, glanced in our direction, then ignored us.
Freeber looked tired. Willis abruptly stood up and whirled on Sei.
“So you don’t like women,” she said.
He shook his head, looking apologetic.
She punched him in the face, knocking him flat. Then she whirled on me, grabbing for my groin. I tried to pull away, but she found what she was looking for and squeezed savagely, dropping me to my knees. Her elbow crashed into my temple, laying me out beside Sei, seeing stars, and feeling profoundly grateful that I was muted.
I didn’t want anyone to ever hear the noises that I would’ve been making just then.
“Imperials!” She groaned again, raising a boot, clearly intending to start stomping Sei—but Freeber put his arms around her and pulled her back.
“That’s not nice,” he said.
She struggled a little, but her heart wasn’t in it. Then she gave up and sagged into him.
“But I don’t even know what this one’s defect is.” She moaned into his chest, pointing a finger at me.
No. She didn’t.
But I did. There was only one explanation for the sudden reversal up there.
Whoever had been on the other end of that feed had recognized me.
But recognized me as who?
12
DIANA and Salmagard burst into the open.
The noise, the motion, the smell—it was like hitting the water after a long fall. The Bazaar’s interior was a sickening kaleidoscope.
Gasping for breath, Salmagard seized the railing and looked down, immediately feeling ill. They had to be near the top of the station; it couldn’t be less than a kilometer drop in front of her. She staggered back, covering her mouth, and Diana caught her.
The red-eyed woman wasn’t even winded, despite the mad dash they’d made from the bay. This place didn’t bother her at all.
“You all right? Still with me?”
Salmagard pulled free, nodding vigorously.
Civilian flyers hummed past by the hundred. Lifts shot up and down, and walkways were everywhere, extending, retracting, rising, and falling.
“Do you need a minute?”
Salmagard shook her head, trying to suppress her gag reflex.
“Come on,” Diana said, hustling her onto the public walkway.
“Damn this dress,” Salmagard swore. She was sweating, and she suddenly gagged. “What’s that smell?”
“It’s galactics. Come on, we can get some clothes.”
“No time. We’ve already taken too long.” Struggling to loosen her sash, Salmagard stared at the colorful people around them. She considered her deeply crimson Isakan dress bold—even approaching gaudy.
She hadn’t chosen it. Fatima, her bunkmate aboard the Julian, had. Salmagard hadn’t known what to wear, and Fatima, appalled by her wardrobe, had assured Salmagard that her own fashion sense would unquestionably ruin any attempt at a romantic rendezvous.
Fatima had been right. The Admiral had liked the dress—and it was clear now that it was not at all gaudy. Apparently, before today, Salmagard hadn’t properly understood the meaning of “gaudy.”
The people of the Bazaar were gaudy, just like the people at that gaming parlor.
Salmagard looked down at herself. Fatima had said the Isakan cut would make Salmagard seem open-minded instead of stodgy. The dress didn’t show any skin to speak of, so it was dignified, and it fit her status, but the bright colors and figure-hugging design made sure there wasn’t even a trace of masculinity.
Furthermore, the sash removed the need for a clutch or bag.
The extent of Salmagard’s fashion sense was to copy the conservative masculine clothes favored by her mentor, Alice Everly.
Fatima’s views on the matter had struck Salmagard as impressively cosmopolitan and sophisticated. Clearly, this was an area where her privileged upbringing had failed her.
Salmagard had felt uncommonly daring to go forth in this ensemble. Now she saw that if she ever wanted to characterize her mode of dress as bold or daring, she had a lot to learn.
Their arrival had set off plenty of alarms, but so far there hadn’t been any sign of pursuit. In imperial space, the authorities would’ve been all over them by now—but just as cultures and values seemed to differ in Free Trade sectors, so did standards.
Salmagard didn’t believe for a second that there would be no consequences for crashing in on the Bazaar this way, but perhaps Bazaar station security wasn’t as omnipresent as its Evagardian equivalent. Perhaps they really could walk away from this.
“How do people find their way in here?” Diana asked wonderingly, gazing around at the crowds of people and uncountable enterprises. Flying transports passed overhead, alarmingly low. A holographic woman dashed through Salmagard, making her jump in
surprise. Was someone exploring the Bazaar remotely, and was that their avatar? Or was that an AI? A guide? Whoever or whatever it was, it needed to learn some manners. So did a lot of these people.
Diana was getting some looks. Her jacket’s fastener had broken at some point, so both her strikingly thin, contoured torso and the chest supporter she’d been forced to wear at Idris’ place were on display. But people weren’t looking at that; they were looking at her eyes. There were plenty of body mods on display here, but nobody had glowing red eyes.
Salmagard keyed her holo. The Bazaar had its own public network, and she connected to it.
Diana guided her out of the path of a big man wearing armor, then pulled her into an alcove between two shop fronts. It was close quarters, but it cut down the noise a little, and it was dangerous to walk around such a crowded place buried in one’s holo. That wasn’t stopping anyone.
“I need a buyer’s account,” Salmagard reported.
“So get one.”
“I’m trying to make it. But I need an entry code. I think you get that when you come in here the right way.”
“Can you pay and get it remotely?”
“I don’t think so.” Salmagard was trying, but the system wasn’t very intuitive. Or maybe it didn’t make sense to her because she was an imperial.
Suddenly she was alone. Alarmed, she looked around, but spotted Diana entering a shop a few meters away. Salmagard hurried after her.
It was a café.
“That, that, and five of those,” Diana said at the counter. “I can pay by transfer, right? I don’t need a buyer’s account?”
The café smelled heavenly, but, more important, it was enclosed. It was a relief not to have the Bazaar swirling around her with all its noise and distractions. Salmagard was still dizzy, but she could feel her equilibrium coming back. She joined Diana.
