by Calista Skye
32
- Mila -
The weapons cache is where I remember it. It's one of five that our Resistance group has buried in our area in case it ever comes to open, armed revolt.
I take the end piece off the first large diameter plastic pipe and peer inside. There are assault rifles and ammunition packed in plastic. Nope, that's no good. I fasten the end piece again and open the next pipe.
Ah. Here are the ready-made pipe bombs. They're bigger than Xan'tor's beverage can, but probably less powerful than his space-age explosives. They're just lengths of plumbing pipes filled with dynamite and sealed, with a crude button on the outside to set them off. I take two of them, close the pipe, and bury the whole cache again.
It takes me a good while, even with the shovel I found in the garage. The hole is deep, and we were three people digging it many months ago. When I'm done, I'm dripping with sweat.
I carry the bombs back to the two-seater ship that Crirux brought and put them in the rear seat, closing the canopy again. He left me another stun gun and a long, ugly knife.
Going back to the house, I find all the clothes and curtains and fabrics the family that lived here left behind. I rip and cut it all up into long strips of various patterns and colors, trying to make it look like the alien outfit on the plastic card. The wizard hat I make from a stiff Forever 21 bag I find, creating a pointy cone that I fasten ribbons to. Hopefully, nobody at the auction shops at Earth malls and recognizes the brand.
When I put the disguise on, I do indeed look ridiculous. But I also look shapeless and alien, even to me.
I get a bunch of fresh leaves that I crunch up and squeeze to a fragrant, green paste that I smear all over my face and hands. It's probably a terribly species-ist thing to do, but I think I can live with that. I probably won't live long after this, anyway.
The preparations take all day.
I can't really make any plans. I will have to play it by ear when I get there. It is more than likely that I will never get close to Emma, anyway.
Opening the canopy to the ship, I climb in, engage the main drive, and shoot for the sky.
As the atmosphere thins and I pass into space, I have an idea that is so crazy it has no chance to work at all. But if it does…
33
- Xan'tor -
“It will be tonight, then. Are we agreed?”
I put my palm on the spot beside me on the crate where Mila would have been sitting. The material is cool and smooth.
Where is she now? What is she doing? What is she thinking? Who is she with?
Is the thinking about me?
I almost hope she is not. The things she must feel about me now... The horror that I'm her worst nightmare. The man who arranged the invasion of her world, making possible the Bululg occupation and ultimately her own abduction and sale at auction.
“Do you agree? Xan'tor?”
But I don't want her to forget me. Can't she think about the good things? There were some good things. Or maybe they all wither and become painful memories for her against the new and dark background?
No! I'm still me! If she enjoyed our time together, then what's the problem? Can I be blamed for her not understanding the realities of a hostile universe? That a man has to make a living, and that he has to do what he's good at? The invasion of Earth was a very gentle one, I saw to that. Like I always do, being in the front lines and taking more than my share of the brunt, keeping the other mercenaries from being too eager in their killing. There was barely a thousand casualties on the defending side because we acted with such effectiveness that their leaders were discouraged from continuing. The short, sharp shock is always the best way to win with as little loss of life as possible on both sides.
“Xan'tor?”
Of course, I know it doesn't matter. I led the invasion where her brother died. That's all she needs to know about me. I'm toxic to her now. How can she give herself to me, knowing that? If the tables were turned, then certainly I—
“Xan'tor!”
I raise my gaze to Frox's wheeled form. “Yes?”
He waves four tentacles in exasperation. “So you are still alive? We were starting to worry. Do you agree with the final plan?”
The Pyramid room is full of mercenaries we have hired for this mission. The holographic Earth spins slowly in front of us. Little red dots mark the meeting points of the Resistance leaders. All we have to do is go to those places and kill the leaders with as much force as we can. Always leaving one of them alive as a witness. The Resistance movement on Earth will die, its head cut off and the remaining body parts unable to make contact with each other.
That is a mercy, in its way. What always happens with these movements is that they become impatient and start open rebellion. That usually ends with the death of many more.
And yet, no planet has ever had a Resistance movement that the Bululg feared. They fear the one on Earth.
'Is Earth special?' Mila asked. I knew back then, too. I should have said it. Yes, Mila, it is special. It is special because you love it.
When we crush the Resistance, it will crush her, too. I have avoided thinking about it. It was my logic that she would be safe in my base while it was going on, and later she would simply accept facts. The depth of her affection for her planet was unknown to me. It is every bit as strong as mine for my clan.
It is not just Earth Resistance. It is Mila's.
But my clan needs me! It is my responsibility to make money for my clan, to enable its defense against the aggressive Tantt clan.
It is my duty.
My fists clench in frustration.
I'm choosing between my clan and Mila. And Mila has left me forever.
The choice is obvious.
I must simply do the right thing.
“No,” I state gruffly.
Frox stiffens. “What?”
I clear my voice. “No. I don't agree. I disagree with this entire mission. We won't accept it.”
Frox throws up all his tentacles and eyestalks in exasperation, then let them drop and hang down, looking like a wilted flower.
Prash frowns. “That would be a little late, Xan'tor. We are committed. The planning is done. The preparations. How do you propose to pay all these soldiers if we don't go through with this?”
I jump down from the crate, feeling light. “There will be a way. We will never again accept a mission from the Bululg.”
The room erupts in angry shouts.
“Have you lost your mind?!”
“You owe me a thousand credits, whether or not the mission happens!”
“I'm not leaving until I have my money!”
“And in full! Full payment!”
“I thought this was your idea, Xan'tor?”
“The Bululg will never hire you again!”
I grab a sonic cannon from the floor, cradle it in my arms, and aim above their heads.
They stiffen, quiet down, and reach for their own weapons, not sure what I'm planning.
“I just need you to be quiet,” I state. “Hear me. You will all be paid in full. I have the funds for it. But don't attempt to complete this mission after all, thinking you can play both sides. I will kill anyone who tries. Forget this whole job ever existed. Frox, pay them all from my private account.”
Frox scratches his wheel. “That will pretty much wipe you out. Don't you have a clan or something that expects support?”
I put the cannon back on the floor. “I will worry about my clan. Pay our friends. With as much of a bonus for each as my account can handle.”
Some of the forty-five soldiers we've hired give me friendly and relieved comments and positive gestures, but most of them frown and glare as I walk fast out of the pyramid room towards the hangar. I have just burned my bridges with most of them.
And yet, when I turn my back to them, a tight smile spreads on my face. It doesn’t matter at all. There’s a good chance I will never return here.
I have much more important things to do.
34
- Mila -
The Bululg look at me with some suspicion, but they let me through after they give the plastic card a cursory glance. I doubt anyone I know would recognize me in this attire. They would think I was a scarecrow or some kind of marketing stunt from a local theater troupe.
Crucially, the guards don't check me for weapons. I have one stun gun that Crirux gave me and both pipe bombs carefully hidden under the layers of rags and colorful strips of fabric.
There are lots of aliens here, lining up to get into the auction hall. If the information is correct, then these are all the richest aliens in the galaxy. Or at least the richest aliens that are supporters of slavery and selling people.
Maybe there is a way to both rescue Emma and blow all these assholes up in a huge explosion?
Probably not. The pipe bombs do have a timer, but they're set to three seconds like a hand grenade. I could throw them into the crowd from a distance, but if we don't die in the explosion, then we will definitely be captured. And I can't do that to Emma.
I can blow her up along with me, though. She's a Resistance fighter as well, probably even more convinced than I am. If blowing us both up and killing as many of these jerks as possible becomes the only way, then she would have understood and agreed.
The line shuffles forwards. The atmosphere around me is loud, smelly, and excited – these people really can't wait to get a look at my sister and maybe place the highest bid.
I keep my head down to not attract any attention. Lots of the other aliens have much louder and more outrageous outfits than this. Even with strips of fabric adorning my whole body, I'm among the less ridiculously attired.
I slowly pass into the auction hall, which is filling up fast. But I gradually make my way as close to the front of the room as I can. The first few yards are reserved for probably the richest attendees and closed off with the alien equivalent of a velvet rope. Still, I get pretty close.
Drawing my arms into the suit, I check on the pipe bombs, making sure I can easily get them. Last time, the baron and his lackeys pulled my arms away from the bomb. This time, I'll keep a hand on one of them at all times. And I'll keep a sharp lookout so I don't get surprised again.
No sooner have I thought it before Baron Pantoflir and his entourage take their places on the other side of the enclosure for the extra rich. They're a good twenty feet away, so I doubt any of them will spot me. But if I have to blow the bombs, I'll make sure it happens close to that murderous jerk.
My heart is beating fast, and my breathing is shallow. I am actually preparing to kill myself. It is the most likely outcome here
And for some reason, it's not that hard. I have my orders, and it will be quick. The life I'm leaving behind isn't much of one. For a while I thought it was going okay, but then…
I pull myself together before I start bawling my eyes out again.
Fine. The Carver kids will all be dead in defense of their world, their people, and everything they believe in. Evan did it first, Emma and I will do it now. There are much worse ways to go, when Earth is not worth living on anymore.
One finger caresses the smooth, cold metal of the pipe bomb.
Filling with grim determination, I realize that I'm ready for anything.
The light is turned down and the auction starts.
35
- Mila -
Then she's there, pushed onto the stage and into the cone of light.
My heart soars, despite the terrible circumstances. My little sister is still alive!
And she's still fierce. She yanks at her chains and screams obscenities, just like I did. Except hers are filthier. I grin, totally approving of that. It gives me new hope. She's so alive, so herself. She hasn't come to much harm so far.
She looks good, too. I don't know what they did to her, but she almost glows in her light blue latex suit. I have to hand it to the Bululg – they know which colors compliment the girls they sell.
And it works. The excitement of the crowd is so great I can almost feel it as an electric charge. Emma is painfully attractive up there.
The presentation ends and one Bululg comes up beside Emma. She tries to kick him, but her chains are too short.
“The bidding begins at fifty thousand credits,” the Bululg says in creaky Interspeech. “I have fifty. Sixty. Seventy-five. A hundred. One hundred thousand bid.”
It happens in seconds. My grasp on the money stuff here in space is sketchy, but from the guys at the base I have learned that a hundred thousand could buy a big asteroid or a small moon in a distant solar system. And the crowd is only getting started.
“One fifty. Two hundred,” the auctioneer calls as the bids keep coming. “Three hundred thousand. Anyone for four hundred? Thank you, Baron Pantoflir. Five hundred. Six hundred thousand. I have six hundred thousand.”
My finger caresses the pipe bomb. Of course the baron is bidding on my sister. I guess we're his type.
“One million,” the auctioneer continues, a price that I know would easily buy a whole planet. “One million credits, and that's cheap for a female like this. It's spirited! Imagine the vitality of the offspring you'd breed from it! Surely worth one and a quarter. Thank you again, Baron. Do I hear one and a half?”
I guess I might as well start doing what I planned, so I raise one hand.
The auctioneer points six fingers at me. “One and a half, thank you. I will call for two million now. Two million for this extraordinary example of female breeding stock!”
Some from the baron's entourage turn around to see who bid, but I look down and away.
Pantoflir raises one bony finger.
“And two million from the baron. You have a good eye for a bargain, Mylord. But if it's worth two, surely it's worth two and a half. Anyone at two and a half? Thank you! I now have two and a half million. How about three?”
More people are looking at me. It must look weird – I'm wearing rags, pretty much, and here I am, bidding my sister higher and higher with money I don't have.
“Three? Three million credits for this outstanding lot? I will let it go for two and a half very soon, unless… thank you, Mylord. I have three million! Three million credits for this superb piece of breeding stock. By far the highest price we have ever seen, but then this is an incredible lot. Now four million. Who will give a paltry four million for this beauty? Four million?”
I raise my hand again, getting nervous. The baron's people are now staring at me with their weird, wide vision bands in the middle of their pancake-stack heads, fiddling with their nasty-looking weapons. The baron himself stares dignifiedly forwards, but he has stiffened and I have a feeling he will turn around very soon.
“Four million,” the auctioneer beams. “That's more like it. Can you let this pass you by, Mylord? Surely not! Four million, I have four million credits bid. Four million. Take your time, Mylord. I won't let this one go for four million just like that. Four million. Cheap for this immaculate female! Notice the roundness. It is the healthiest and most vital lot we have seen. Not a scratch on it. Four million is bid. Four million credits. It's cheap, dear clients. Very cheap for this female, whose offspring will be strong and- thank you again, Mylord! The bid is five million!”
An impressed hiss goes through the room. I think five million credits could buy a major space station in orbit around a densely populated planet. But Emma is worth more than that.
I raise my hand quickly.
“Six million!” the auctioneer squeaks. “This is truly a historical moment! Remember this one, dear clients. You were here when it happened. Six million is bid! I have six million. Six million. Mylord, I would hate to see you lose out on this unbelievable lot over mere money. Shall I put you down for seven?”
On the stage, Emma is looking towards me with a frown on her face, squinting against the light. I itch to wave so she'll know she's not alone, but all the attention in the room is on me, and I doubt it's common for customers to buy someone they're on waving
terms with.
“Six million, six million… I have six million credits bid.”
Finally Baron Pantoflir turns around and fixes his weird vision band on me. I ignore it, wishing I had worn some kind of veil. The green leaf paste is starting to run down my face, mixed with nervous sweat. It has a bitter taste to it.
The baron whispers something to one of his lackeys.
I snake the other hand in under my outfit, so that I can detonate both pipe bombs at a moment's notice. My breath is going ragged. I've never been this nervous.
“First warning,” the auctioneer says. “I will sell this record-breaking breeding lot for six million credits. Six million. Anyone higher?”
The baron and his lackey talk again, so loud I can hear the whistles.
“Second warning. Six million. I will now accept six and a half if bid. Six and a half, Mylord? Mere pocket change for you. No? Six and a quarter?”
Baron Pantoflir flexes a bony, five-knuckled finger in what has to be frustration.
That's fine, you saggy piece of trash. I can keep this up all day long.
“Third warning,” the auctioneer squeaks. “Six million. I will sell this sensational lot for six million. This chance will never come again. Six million credits. Are you sure, Mylord? Very well. Six million credits… and... sold.”
A little bell chimes and a deafening chatter goes through the room as hundreds of aliens see me buy my own sister.
The baron is now openly staring at me, along with all his lackeys and all the other aliens in the room. I turn my back to him and limp towards the door, trying to look like I have three legs. The alien crowd parts to let me through. Behind me I can hear Emma's furious protests as she's being led off the stage, alien chains rattling.
“Where is the buyer? Will the buyer please identify himself... herself… hmm. Will the successful buyer please identify itself?” the auctioneer calls.
Damn. I can't do anything that would seem suspicious. At this auction, the buyer is clearly expected to stay behind in the hall.
