by Jake Stone
“Pace yourself,” she says, wiping a smudge of cream from the corner of my mouth. “I’m not sure how they do it on your planet, but here you’re going to get sick if you eat like that.”
“I’m starving.”
“I can see that.”
We walk through the streets of the capital, using the palace, which is in full view over the tops of the city buildings, as our guide. The sun has already begun to set, and with it, a welcoming breeze.
“I need to hurry,” Zorel says. “Beshai Tulgas and Gaideck Demetrius are probably arguing over how we should proceed.”
“What’s the deal between those two, anyway?” I ask. “Do they not like each other or something?”
“The Church of Light has two stewards,” she explains. “One to look to the sun, the other to lead the flock.”
“Let me guess,” I say, “Gaideck Demetrius is the one who looks to the sun?”
“The gaideck takes his role very seriously,” she says. “As he should. But actually, it was Tulgas who was offered the role of Gaideck first.”
“Why’d he refuse it?” I ask.
“Because he believes that purity can only be found amongst the people, and that true piety comes from aid and mercy.”
“Sounds noble.”
“He is,” she says. “At least, for the most part. He kind of has a…drinking problem.”
“Cranish?” I ask, remembering the green drink from Candatoria’s confessional.
“He drinks it like it’s air. If he’s not careful, he’ll die from it.”
“Why don’t you stop him?”
“It’s not my place.”
“That’s too bad,” I say, taking another bite. “He seems like an okay guy. He was the only one who seemed to believe me about the slavers.”
“The beshai and Atia have been searching them out for some time now. There are also rumors of demons hiding in the Frontier.”
“Demons?”
“Monsters left over from the War of Darkness. Mindless creatures who came through the Dark Horizon. With them came lust, violence, and disease. It is said, where a demon abides, sin is sure to fester. It’s the only explanation for the slaver’s return. But enough talk about that, earth-man,” she says, her voice growing cheerful again. “Now, we must part ways.”
“Wait,” I say, halting her in the middle of the street. “What about Rachel?”
“I’m sorry, Xander, but she isn’t our concern.”
“Wait a minute, you said wherever demons abide, sin is sure to fester. Well, what’s more evil than slavers? Don’t you see, our paths lead in the same direction.”
“It’s too dangerous for someone like you.”
“What do you mean someone like me?”
“Young and defenseless.”
“Defenseless?” I ask, insulted. “I was captured by those assholes, and I still managed to kill one of them.”
“And the other almost killed you,” she says. “I know because I was the one who saved you.”
“And I’m forever grateful for that, but you can’t expect me to do nothing while the slavers still have Rachel. Besides, think about it, I’ve seen those assholes. I know what they look like. I can help you.”
Zorel hesitates as she weighs the matter in her head, her gaze veering toward the palace where Atia is surely expecting her. Quirking her mouth to the side, she looks at me. “You’re not going to give up on this, are you?”
“I’ll steal one of those hover-cycles and head out on my own if I have to.”
“Fine,” she says with a sigh. “Come with me.”
Chapter Seven
The sun sets into a bath of colored layers, disappearing over a craggy horizon. Usually, such a sight would relax me. But it doesn’t. The day is ending, and Rachel’s still out there, enslaved.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“To get a drink.”
“I don’t want a drink. I want to look for Rachel.”
“And so we shall.”
The city is a different animal at night. Bright sunlight gives way to streets of glowing strobe lights. They hang over seedy bars and eateries that are closed during the day, only to open up like waking monsters hungry for food.
All around me, swarms of insects— bright little things whose flapping-wings vibrate the cooling air—dance around us like fairies.
“They’re Celephods,” Zorel says as if reading my mind.
“Are they dangerous?”
Zorel snatches one from the air and pops it into her mouth, giving it a little crunch before finally swallowing. The act startles me, and I realize that all things sweet can bite back in this world.
“I see,” I say.
The energy is different here, bold, electric. I feel as if I look at the wrong person the wrong way, I might end up on the wrong side of a knife. I have to be careful.
“So, where are we going?” I ask.
“A bar on the south side called the Ogre’s Toe.”
“Sounds like a really nice place.”
I lower my gaze as we pass by a group of men in leather dusters standing outside a bar. They drink cranish from dirty bottles, their hands resting on the sidearms hanging from their waists.
They notice us as we walk by. Their glares go from Zorel’s tits to my face, cringing in confusion as they try to figure out how a fine-ass babe like her is doing walking with such a young piss-ant like me. To be honest, even I don’t know.
Zorel weaves an arm into mine, rubbing it in their faces.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask nervously.
“Having some fun.” She looks at me with a grin and rests her head on my shoulder, like a girlfriend who’s tired after a long date. “Besides,” she adds, her other hand tightening around my bicep, “the worst thing any of these guys have probably ever done is murder.”
I feign a laugh. “Murder, huh? That’s it?”
The Ogre’s Toe is a two-story building set at the end of the corner of the street. Even from far away, I can hear the obnoxious laughter and wild brawling of men and women partying inside. They’re fearless, it seems, consumed by life’s lust to indulge in cursing and fighting. Does Zorel really expect us to go in there?
Before we get any closer, she brings me to a stop, pulling me into one of the alleys, where she hides behind the corner. We wait, watching as people pass by. It isn’t until a pair of men in black hooded cloaks that she makes her move.
“Hey boys,” she says, leaning against the wall with her hand resting against her hip. “How ‘bout a quickie?”
The men exchange a glance, their mouths falling agape as they realize their good fortune.
“Looks like we might start the party off a bit early, Orgo,” one of the men says.
“That’s how I like it,” the other replies.
They follow her into the alley, oblivious to my existence a few feet down where I’m hiding. The men are ugly, rotten. Scarred faces. Thick jaws. Noses that have been punched in. Yellow teeth that reek of shit. Really classy guys.
“Hate to break it to you, young lady,” the first one says as he cracks his knuckles. “But I don’t pay for pussy and neither does my friend here. So I guess you’re gonna have to give us a freebie.”
“Oh you’ll pay,” Zorel says laughing.
They’re already groping her body when I see a shock of blue lightning leaving her fingers. The men spasm in place, their eyes twitching as their bodies finally fall to the ground.
“Hurry,” Zorel says, reaching to take off one of the men’s cloaks.
It’s then that I notice the other stirring back to life. He blinks, his head lifting from the ground, a look of realization on his face when he sees her disrobing his companion.
“You bitch!” he groans, reaching for his sidearm.
I kick the man in the face, knocking him out with the bottom of my boot. His eyes close as he falls back to sleep, a raucous snore escaping his lips.
“Nice job,” Zorel says. “Quick, t
ake his cloak and put it on.”
“Why?” I ask, doing as she says.
“I can’t let them see my uniform,” she explains. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I don’t know about this place,” I say, looking around the corner at the building. I pull the hoodie over my head. “I mean, who are these people?”
“The worst of the worst,” she says. “Make no doubt about it, Xander, this is the sewer of the city, the toilet that every psychopath, mercenary and piece of shit stops off to piss in whenever they're looking to pull out their cock and go wild.”
“So, it’s a family-friendly place. Okay, gotcha.”
“Hey,” she says, snapping me out of my fear. “If your precious girlfriend is on Dardekum, someone in there will know about it. Now, you have to ask yourself, are you sure you want to do this? Because once we go in asking about a slave girl, we’re not coming out until we either get what we need or someone gets killed in the process. The choice is yours.”
I take a nervous swallow. The bar looks darker now, as if I’m looking down the throat of a savage lion. But then I think about Rachel. And my fear is chased away, driven by a calm determination to find her at whatever the cost. I can do this. I will do this.
“I’m ready,” I finally say.
We walk as one toward the Ogre’s Toe, ignoring the harsh looks from the criminals standing outside. Just from the tightness of her steps, I can sense that Zorel is nervous as well—and that frightens me. To think that someone of her rank and power is cautious also leaves me wondering, What chance do I have?
“Purifiers ignore this sector,” she says quietly as we pass by a man who’s getting a blowjob in plain sight by one of the prostitutes. “There are too few of us alive to keep it under control. Instead, we turn a blind eye to the criminal element who run this sector, so long as they stick to their side of town and don’t mess with the local populace.”
“Great,” I say, feeling the muscles of my back tighten from anxiety. To say that I’m nervous would be an understatement. I’m about to shit my pants. But I remind myself of Rachel, and once again, I’m determined.
Zorel pushes through the double doors of the bar, and we glide through the mess of tables, ignoring card players, drinkers and quiet figures watching us from beneath their furrowed brows.
The bartender, an older man whose face is half-burnt, wipes a glass with a dirty rag as he watches us lean against the counter.
“What’s your poison?” he asks.
“Two shots of cranish,” Zorel says. “And make them straight-up. You got me?”
“Crystal,” he says.
As he turns to pour our drinks, I notice some slob of a man sitting to my left sneakily reaching to pour himself a shot of cranish. The bartender, as if psychic, spins around just in time, catching him by the wrist and digging a sharp blade into the man's hand, impaling it to the counter.
The man lets out a terrifying scream, and I nearly fall out of my seat in horror.
The slob’s eyes bulge, his mouth dripping with saliva, his other hand balling into a fist as he struggles with the pain.
Amazingly, amidst this horrific sight, no one—not a single fucking person in the bar—gives a shit. Only a few look over to check the commotion, intrigued by the spectacle, then look away again, grinning.
“What the fuck did I tell you, Yorga?” the bartender seethes as he twists the knife deeper into the man’s hand.
“No money; no drink,” Yorga manages through his tears.
“That’s right,” the bartender says. “No money; no drink.”
“Can’t you just spot me a sip till tomorrow, Kaldor? I got an excellent deal coming in soon. You’ll see. Money. Drugs. Women. Whatever you need.”
“Every time you come in here, you start talking about big deals coming your way,” Kaldor says.
“But this time it’s true,” Yorga persists. “There’s something new happening on the big D, a new boss. Someone real bad.”
Kaldor’s not having it. He yanks the blade from the man’s hand while holding his wrist in place, then, holding the blade over Yorga’s fingers, he readies to begin chopping. “Yeah? Well, send him my regards.” Kaldor is about to start with the man’s pinky when Zorel finally speaks.
“Let him go.” Her voice is calm, secure. It carries enough merit to draw the bartender’s attention.
“What’s that?” he asks.
“You heard me,” she replies. “I’ll pay his tab.”
Kaldor looks to the man, disgusted. “Why?”
“Because,” Zorel says, “I want to hear what he has to say.”
At this point, my heart’s banging in my chest. And as relieved as I am that the man’s not going to get his fingers cut off, I’m also worried that Zorel has gotten us into even worse bullshit.
Kaldor pulls his knife away from Yorga’s fingers, but not before shoving him off his stool. He glares at Zorel, as if she’s kept him from doing something he’s wanted to do for a long time. “Fine,” he says. “But I charge interest.”
“Well then,” Zorel says, planting a couple of gold coins on the counter, “I guess we’ll just have to take the entire bottle.”
I guess it’s a lot of money because Kaldor is awed by the sight. He says nothing as we pull away from the counter, bottle in hand.
“Grip him by the hair,” Zorel whispers to me.
“What?”
“Grip him by the hair and drag him to that table,” she repeats, pointing to a spot in the room where a trio of tough-looking men are sitting. “And make a show of it.”
I don’t know what she means by this. But I’m guessing she wants me to act tough. So, doing what she asks, I grip Yorga by the scalp and yank him forward, pulling him with everything I have.
“Come on, you mother fucker!” I yell, kicking him in the ass while I do it.
He yells in protest, scratching at my hand. But he’s weak and drunk and barely able to stand. It’s like I’m dragging one of my nephews across the lawn of my backyard.
When we reach the table, the three men look up at us, confused.
“And what the fuck do you want?” one of them asks. He lies back in his chair, his hand unashamedly gripping his cock as he eyes Zorel’s tits. “You here to suck my dick?”
“No,” she says. “You here to suck mine?” From beneath her cloak, she pulls out her sidearm, a futuristic version of a forty-four-magnum with a scope attached to the top of it. The men take one look at it before scattering from the table. “Thank you, gentlemen.”
By now, between me dragging the drunk and her running those brutes from the table, some of the darker folk in the bar have begun to notice us. They whisper as they look at us, their eyes rife with plotting.
“Sit him down,” she orders, taking her seat. “And do it hard.”
I shove him into the chair opposite her and slap him hard across the face. The sound is loud, and I almost break my hand in the process. Yorga looks at me, dumbfounded. “Did I fuck your sister or something?”
“Sorry,” I whisper to him, giving my hand a shake.
“What the fuck is this?” Yorga asks, turning to Zorel. “What’s going on here?”
“You mentioned a new boss,” she says. “Who is he?”
“Why should I tell you?”
She sighs and motions to the bottle on the table. I take her cue and pour the man a drink.
“Not too much,” Zorel adds. “We don’t want him getting any more than he deserves.”
Yorga watches me in suspicion like an alley cat being fed by a stranger. I just kicked his ass. Why should he trust me?
When I’m done, I slide the shot glass before him. He snatches it and throws it back, growling in admiration as he slams it down on the table. “Wow, can’t believe they got this stuff on the big D. Amazing.”
“So, who’s this boss of yours?” Zorel asks.
He glances at us for a second. He’s trying to figure out who we are, what our angle is. Hell, even I don’t know. An
d I think that’s what stifles him. “You think I can see your tits before I tell you?”
Zorel shoves the table into the man’s belly, pressing him against the wall behind him to the point where he’s struggling to breathe.
“Okay, okay,” he manages through breaths. “I’ll tell you what I know.”
Zorel releases her foot. “These women you were talking about, where are they from?”
“No one’s really sure—”
Zorel presses her foot at the edge of the table again.
“But we’ve got some ideas,” he wheezes.
She releases her foot. “Where?”
“Off-world,” he says, rubbing the pain from his stomach. “Bunch of planets.”
I sit up in my seat, bolstered by the term. Is he talking about Rachel?
“Who’s running them?” Zorel continues.
He glances back at the bottle. She nods at me, and I pour him another drink. He picks it up, but this time, he has the grace to nod his thanks to me before tossing it back.
“That part we don’t know. Some say he’s an off-worlder—a big-time slaver from back in the day. But he’s got some big connections. Has to. He’s bringing in equipment, girls, soldiers. It’s wild how much pull this guy has.”
Zorel’s expression changes. Even under the shade of her hood, I can make out the narrowed eyes, the line between her brow. She’s discovered something that she wasn’t expecting. “Can you give me his coordinates?” she asks.
“Why?”
She shrugs. “A girl’s got to eat.”
He examines her, not in a perverted way, but as if he’s gauging her mettle. “Slavery is a tough profession for a woman, much less someone who looks like you.”
“And what do I look like?”
“Like a fine piece of ass I’d like to eat all night!” he roars out laughing. He slaps me on the shoulder, expecting me to join in his amusement. But my concern for Rachel keeps me at bay. I want to know more. I need to know where she is. Can he really help us?
“We can hold our own,” Zorel assures him. “Besides, if you give us the information, I’ll make it worth your while.”