by Ruby Dixon
I hate that my pulse spikes. That I think of the nubile human female and her expressive eyes. How I swear she looks at me when she dances, sometimes. "What about the cantina?"
Tikosa's mouth curves in a half smile as he shrugs. "Abuar's finally getting what's coming to him. You know he hasn't paid the syndicate in months? It's only because he's the only cantina with whores that he's able to get away with so much. All that's changing, though."
I watch him through narrowed eyes. "What do you mean?"
"Heard a rumor that the syndicate told him not-so-nicely that he has two days to get out of here. He's closed up shop and sold the place to Nhaoan on the cheap."
I grunt. I'm not entirely surprised that Abuar ran afoul of the real power on this station. He had a business partner that handled a lot of the financial work for him while he fooled around with his slaves and pretended to be a big deal. That partner died last year, though, and ever since, it's been a matter of time, in my opinion. Still, I hope the new master is kind to the slave with the pretty eyes. She's up in that window all day long and by the end of the day, she looks exhausted and worn. "Who's Nhaoan?"
"Some equally cheap bastard. Ssithri."
"Ugh." Not my favorite. Too many have tried to ease out of paying me, thinking they can rip me off. It's a cultural thing for the ssithri to rip off non-ssithri. Brings them honor or some such. Something tells me he's not going to last long as a cantina owner, though. Poor human's gonna have to change hands again, I imagine. "The slaves are probably ready for a new owner."
"Mmm. Those that stay."
For a moment, my gut goes cold. "Stay?"
He nods, frowning at a particularly tricky bit of wire. Hasn't looked at me once this entire conversation, Tikosa. He's utterly focused his task, and yet he'd be able to recite every word we've said here. He's clever, and in a few years, I aim to make him my apprentice. Right now, though, I'm not pleased with his work. I want to knock the keffing data pad out of his hands and get him to spit out what he's learned. "Yeah. You know Abuar. He's gonna leave the ugly ones with the cantina and sell the pretty slaves before the new owner shows up. Heard he's already been trying to set something up with the flesh peddlers for tonight."
Flesh peddlers. He's selling his pretty slaves.
The human's his most valuable slave. The one he uses to entice everyone into his cantina. I've thought about going there a few times myself, plunking down enough credits on the bar to get an hour of her time and to relieve myself of this incessant itch in my system when it comes to her, but I never have. I never wanted to see her look at me in horror or disgust.
She deserves better than a quick sale, though. Knowing Abuar, he's going to sell her for fast credits, not good credits, and her new master most likely won't be kind.
He won't take care of her like I would.
I run my hand over my metal-plated skull again. Kef me. Why am I even thinking about the female? Why do I care? I've never needed female companionship before. My hand has always sufficed. Matings and flirting are for males that look normal, not half-metal monsters like myself. The female would be horrified if she had to service me in bed.
Unless…
Unless I can give her a reason to be eager. Dangle a prize that will make her pretend to be a willing bed partner.
"Where's the auction gonna be held?" I ask Tikosa. "Which stall?"
3
TESSA
I shiver despite the humidity in the station. The purifying air filters can't work fast enough to keep the place cool, and it always gets a little steamy until they kick into high gear. You get used to it, and most of my clothing is skimpy and thin. Not that I got to keep any of that clothing. It was all left back at the cantina, because a slave isn't supposed to show up with a pack of belongings on their new master's doorstep. They show up naked. A blank slate. So I'm shivering not because of cold, but because of fear.
I'm going to be sold to a stranger. Again.
The collar on my throat isn't unfamiliar. It's a shock collar, loosely chained to the four other women that Abuar's selling. Or at least, he's trying to sell. Right now he's in an argument with the nearest slaver, dithering over his percentage of the sales. Doesn't matter who's selling us, though. One booth isn't any better than another. There's no one decent on Three Nebulas Station. At least, no one that would buy a slave.
I think of the metal-jawed man with the shop across from the cantina, the one that watched me. He wouldn't buy a slave. He's probably disgusted by all the immoral things that go down in the cantina. I know he's never stepped inside. He'd probably be cruel anyhow, and my fantasies are just that—fantasies. Still, when you've got nothing to cling to, even a fantasy of a metal-jawed man with a somewhat-kind heart seems like a fairy tale. Right now, I'd give anything to be in that stupid window, dancing until my aching feet fall off. It's a familiar life. I know what to expect day in and day out, and even if it's not a good life, it could be worse.
Right now, I'm living “worse.”
Next to me, Jemiia weeps quietly, wiping at her eyes. She's pretty enough, with silky golden fur all over her body and big blue eyes that entice the customers. She's the most popular girl in the cantina for that reason, and I know she feels as betrayed and hurt as I do right now. I want to comfort her, but…there's no point. If I tell her everything will be all right, I'm just lying. Sometimes it feels like nothing will ever be all right again.
Abuar throws up his hands in disgust. "Twenty percent. For doing what?"
"For putting my name on the certificate," the flesh peddler says, stroking the thin, wiry beard on his jaw. I don't know what he is, race-wise. Something porcine, judging by his short nose and blubbery skin. I try not to think about being bought by someone like him because I can't control it. All I can do is survive until the next trauma comes up. The slavemaster smiles at Abuar in a way that tells me he has the upper hand. "For showing your wares to my good customers on such short notice."
"Short notice? How long does this sort of thing take?" Abuar protests. "They're just slaves. Sell them and be done with it."
He makes it sound like we're not people, more like a CD player he's taken to the nearest pawn shop. It's disgusting…and not surprising. After so many years of this, nothing surprises me anymore.
"Short notice," the slavemaster agrees. "Slaves must be given a clean bill of health. They must be inspected and their personalities documented. I must ensure that my customers are buying the goods I promise. They must be cleaned up. All these things take many days. Maybe weeks. But for twenty percent, I can overlook such things."
Abuar looks back at us, thinking. For a moment, I don't know if I'm hopeful that he'll change his mind and take us back to the cantina, or if he'll leave us here. Both options are equally terrible. "Twenty percent," he says after a long pause. "Very well. I will be back to get my credits tonight."
The slavemaster nods, taking the chain that Abuar holds out to him. "They will be ready."
Word travels fast on the station. The slavemaster has his connections, at least. Within hours, I overhear the conversations between the slavemaster and his slaves about how many buyers are coming to the impromptu auction that night. As for the slaves, we're scrubbed and rubbed with lotion to make our skin shiny, checked all over for diseases, and given health-boosting shots to make us seem radiant. A female szzt slave comes in to brush hair and to pinch body parts so they flush.
I wince as she pinches one of my nipples, covering it with my hands. "Can you not?" I hiss.
"Your teats are large," she says, unruffled by my tone. "Buyers will like that. Pinch them yourself if you must, but make sure they are perked with arousal when you step on stage."
I'm going to do no such thing. I cover my tits with my hands and glare at her as she walks past. I might be helpless to control my fate, but I'm not going to give myself perky nipples just so I can drive my price up.
We sit in a small, stuffy room for hours once we're “ready.” Our chains have been removed, the
shock collars replaced with a more decorative collar. Doesn't matter—there's nowhere for us to go. Jemiia huddles with the others, weeping quietly, but I'm numb. My last experience on the auction block was not a good one, and I'm trying not to think about the fate that's coming for me. To think that just yesterday I was whining about my feet hurting. I'm such an idiot. I didn't realize how good I had it, and now the universe is going to show me just how bad it can really get.
"So many customers," the szzt slave woman crows as she peeks out into the next room. "All hungry for a bargain. Want to see?" She glances back at us, her beady eyes shining with cruel delight.
No one takes her up on her offer. Jemiia just weeps harder.
I lean back against the wall, waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
Suddenly, there's a flurry of skirts. The szzt slave moves over to us and begins to fluff and primp our hair, adjusting decorative cheap jewelry hung in my ponytail. I try to flick her hands away, confused, but then the door opens.
The slavemaster steps in.
And behind him…the metal-jawed man.
I suck in a breath, wondering if the universe is taunting me.
4
ZAKOAR
It's taken me nearly all day to find where the keffing female slaves have been hidden away. I've searched three floors of this damned station, asking every lowlife criminal where I can buy myself a human. After a few hours of fruitless searching, I wonder why I'm even bothering, but every time I turn around to go home, I see the female's eyes in my mind. How she alternates between playfulness and sadness. How she watched me with that bold stare.
I've seen plenty of slaves today, searching for her. All of them flinched at the sight of me. It reminds me why I avoid females. Why I've never bothered with bedroom companionship. I don't want to see disgust in a female's eyes when I'm balls deep inside her. Just when I'm about to give up again, though, I meet with a slaver who gives me a sharp-eyed look.
"As a matter of a fact, I just acquired a human slave today. She's not been given all the health checks, of course, but her master needs a quick sale. I might be willing to pull her from the auction I'm having tonight for the right price."
I give him a cold, dispassionate look. "Let me see the merchandise first."
"Of course, of course." The male is as unctuous and slimy as I suspect any flesh trader would be. He leads me back into his shop, past rooms full of reclining, giggling females, past another room where a variety of males are waiting and nursing drinks, their eyes on a small stage. "You're just in time," the trader tells me. "I'm glad you've come to me. It is an honor to serve the needs of Zakoar of the Broken Back."
I say nothing. I know I have a reputation on this station—and many others—for being the best at my work and not asking questions. I do work for the syndicate here on the station, and if nothing else, handling their prosthetic needs puts me in a position of power. I know I'm important here—and this male knows it, too. He probably wants a favor. I snort at the thought. Probably a prosthetic penis of some kind, bigger than the one he has. I get asked for that sort of thing all too keffing often.
The slavemaster leads me down the hall, to a room in the back. He steps in front of the door and eyes me. "You know for this privilege, you'll be paying more for her. My other customers will be quite upset when they learn that the human female is no longer for sale. She's a big draw."
"They'll get over it," I growl. "Name your price."
He does.
It's an obscene amount, and I suspect he's gouging me deliberately. He doesn't want to pull the human from his slave auction. He wants to use her to escalate the bidding. It's only that he fears me and my influence that I'm here at all. It's a huge sum of credits…and yet it's what I expected. I cross my arms and incline my head, letting him know that the price is agreed upon. I don't haggle. Doing so would decrease my power, and I want this man well aware of how little the credits matter.
With an almost gleeful nod, the male opens the door and gestures that I should follow him.
I do…and I see her.
She leans against the wall, apart from the other females. There's a defeated look on her face as she stares off into space, and when I step into the room, she turns her dull gaze to me. As she does, the look on her face melts away to one of…hope.
No one's ever looked at me like that before. Like I've made every one of her keffing dreams come true. It fills me with conflicting feelings to see how excited she gets. It's just because I'm saving her from the auction block. It's not for me. "I'll take her."
"Don't you want a good look at her first?" The slavemaster moves to the human female, kicking at her leg. "Get up. Show him your teats."
The girl jumps to her feet, wincing as he kicks her, and when he tries to do it again, I put a hand on his arm. "That's mine. Don't damage her."
"Of course, of course." He's all smooth apologies, patting the girl on the arm. "I think you'll agree she's a fine-looking specimen of a human, don't you think?"
The girl moves toward me, her breasts swaying. She's naked, wearing nothing but a cheap collar around her neck. Up close, she's slightly older than I thought she was. Still youthful, but with some age behind her eyes. Her breasts are as magnificent as ever, big and full with light pink tips. I know every bit of her body, watched her expose it all as she dances. There's nothing here that's new to me…other than being so very close to her. It's the first time I've stood in the same room as her. First time I've breathed in her scent.
Kef me, nothing in all the galaxies should smell as good as she does. They've covered her in perfumes, but underneath that is a light, sweet scent that's all her. She gazes up at me with big, questioning eyes, as if she doesn't dare to hope.
A muffled sob breaks behind her, and she flinches, looking back at the other females.
I hate the sound of a female crying. Hate that I'm in a room full of females crying. They deserve better fates than this. "How much for all the females?"
"Oh, I cannot do that," the slaver says, all apologies. "It would disappoint too many customers. I cannot allow you to take more than one. She is the best of the group, is she not? Or does another tickle your fancy?"
There's a desperate flash in the female human's eyes. She's afraid I'm going to pick someone else. I don't look away from her. I don't want her to worry about such things. Ever since our eyes met through the window, I've thought about no other female. I gaze down at her, at the pale, pale skin and oddly greenish eyes. She looks soft, this female, softer than I ever imagined, and I hunger to touch her.
"No. I will take the human."
If she doesn't flinch when I take her to bed, it will be worth the credits. I can slake my needs, get her out of my mind once and for all, and move on with my life. I'm not keeping her. I just need to get her out of my head, and the best way to do that is to work out all of my sexual frustrations with her. Once I've gotten her out of my system, I'll take her to the human refuge—the planet Risda III.
We'll both get what we want out of this.
5
TESSA
This has to be a dream. Good things don't happen to me. They haven't since the day four years ago that I woke up on an alien spaceship. From there, they've just gotten progressively worse. So to see the object of my dreams stride into the room and demand to buy me before I ever step on the auction block? I feel like I'm dreaming.
I don't pinch myself, because I don't want to wake up.
The slavemaster babbles with how excited he is even as he counts my new owner's credits and scans them to make sure they're not trackable. Once he's satisfied, he gestures at the back door. "You should go out that way," the slaver says. "I don't want my other customers getting upset. As far as they know, Abuar changed his mind and decided to keep the female. I'll have the documents sent over to you in the morning, but for now, you can enjoy her company. And if you change your mind, I'll be here in the morning for a partial refund."
My heart goes cold at that. Partial refund? Oh god. Wh
at if he's going to fuck me and send me back? That might be even worse, because then I'll get my hopes up.
"No refunds," the big, metal-covered male at my side says.
He puts a hand on my shoulder and steers me out of the slave house, out the back door and into a cramped shipping tunnel. Condensation covers the metal walls in wet dew, and it's freezing out here, the station's air cyclers roaring. Under my bare feet, the floors are damp, cold and slightly muddy from the mixture of people-dirt and runoff water. The tunnel's not empty, though—no place on Three Nebulas is. There are piles of garbage heaped behind each of the shops, traders doing unsavory business, and small children with nowhere else to go huddled up against each other in the refuse.
I cross my arms over my chest, feeling exposed in a way I never did dancing in the window. I wish I had some clothing. Any clothing. Everyone stares at me as we emerge out of the slaver's hold, and I'm acutely aware of how vulnerable I am right now. I have no weapon, no shoes, no clothing. At least I was safe in the window.
As if he can read my terrified thoughts, the male at my side moves his arms and then takes off his tunic. He drapes it over my shoulders and puts a possessive hand against the back of my neck as he pulls me closer. "Stay close. Eyes down."
I do as he says, tugging his tunic over my body. It's not the most concealing of garments—I swear it's not more than a bunch of leather straps and some sleeves—but I'm grateful for anything. A flash of metal catches my eye, and I'm entranced at just how much metal is on him. It practically gleams under his skin, and his chest seems to be a mass of scars and metal plates. I've never seen anything like it. It's Frankenstein-like, but it doesn't scare me. Why should it, when I've seen so much worse in the universe? It just tells me that he's a tough motherfucker to have endured so much and come out the other side. It tells me that he's badass enough that no one will mess with him, and that's the kind of protector I fantasize about.