“Thank you all for joining us today, those of you gathered here and those of you watching from all over the system!” Madame DeMarch exclaimed, drawing out a few excited shouts from members of the audience.
The pit in Aralyn’s stomach yawned wider. Some fifty-odd people had gathered in person on the ship. How many others were watching from the comfort of their own homes and businesses? How many people was this signal reaching, and why hadn’t the UDA done more to stop it? Bouncing signals off of satellites and even by uploading them into various cloud systems was a difficult trace, for sure, but the proxies they used could eventually be hunted down. She was sure of it.
Aralyn lifted her wrist module close to her mouth since the microphone in her ear piece probably wasn’t sensitive enough to pick up her whisper above the sounds of the audience. “Rio, can you track the outgoing signal and flag it?”
In her ear came his response of, “Already on it.” He paused. “Caden wants to know how things are going.”
Aralyn sized up the other bodyguards and whispered, “As well as can be expected, I guess.”
While Madame DeMarch blathered on about how amazing their latest “shipment” was, the frail man went off stage and returned moments later with three women and a man, all barefoot, wearing threadbare clothing and dreamy, faraway looks in their eyes. Aralyn’s stomach, already on the verge of spilling its contents, lurched. The three women weren’t “women,” per se, but girls, probably in their mid-teens. And the man, although not older than mid-thirties, looked like he could lift a ship if he felt so inclined. Not quite as tall as Dolph the Giant had been, but every bit as muscular. If not for the orachal, he would probably have picked the tiny auctioneer up and snapped him in half over his knee like a bundle of dry kindling.
“That’s going to be sex, sex, sex,” said Kita in a low voice, pointing to the girls, her mouth in a grim line, “and physical labor.” She gestured to the man at the end. “There’s only about three categories that any of these initial people will fit into. Pleasure, labor and factory workers, and general servitude. They’ll be sold to their new owners today, then sent wherever they’re supposed to go from there. Messengers will go with them to re-up their dosage of orachal so they don’t ‘wake up’ and start screaming somewhere public.”
Aralyn glanced down at Kita. The girl’s face was troubled, her eyes distant and hollow. “How much of this is what you remember going through?” she asked.
“I didn’t remember it at all at first,” Kita admitted. “But the memories started when I was about ten. And they don’t get any better. I don’t know what happened the first time I was bought, but I was auctioned for two more years after I started becoming aware… And I remember everything about that.”
“I thought people couldn’t remember anything on orachal.”
“They can if they start getting resistant to it,” said Kita. “But it’s rare for that to happen. It’s an adverse side-effect of too much use, but only happens if the orachal doesn’t fry your brain first.”
Aralyn couldn’t bring herself to ask anything more, especially given the crowd around them. Madame DeMarch talked about the qualities of each slave as the frail man behind her marched them forward, turned them around, and even showed off their teeth like they were looking at horses for sale.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Aralyn hissed, clenching her jaw.
“You’d better hold it the hell together,” Apollo said, casting a nervous glance over at her. “Unless you want that to be you up there next.”
Resisting the urge to kick him, just barely, Aralyn quieted, listening to the sounds of people being sold off like property. When the bidding occurred, Apollo didn’t try to jump in. Group after group of orachal slaves were paraded over the stage like show ponies and sold to the highest bidder, then dragged off to be taken somewhere else. What bothered Aralyn the most was the dreamy, far-off look in their eyes as they were marched away, like they were having a particularly splendid dream they didn’t want to wake up from.
“I thought we were here to bid,” Kita said. “This is torture!”
“These are the standard preliminary sales,” Apollo explained, mistaking Kita’s discomfort for uncertainty about their bid. “They’ll have the skilled lots coming out soon.”
Aralyn glared at him, uncertain of whether or not to step on his toes and crush them enough that he would lose his self-satisfied attitude about the fact that they were selling people. His nonchalance sent a deep tremor of worry running down her spine. Not for the first time, she wondered what Taav had really gotten them into.
Madame DeMarch gave another of her dazzling rich bitch smiles and announced the next lot. These people were called one by one, rather than by group. The first was a woman who could sing opera, her voice a combination of surgically-gifted electronic mods and natural soprano. The first high note she hit shattered three glasses in the front row. She was sold for seventy-five thousand credits to a man who joked that he needed her as a parlor trick at his upcoming choral society parties.
The second was a child holo-painting prodigy, whose work, a group of elegant koi, came to life and swam around the audience’s heads. People gasped and clapped, and she went for just a bit more than the opera singer had.
“Now,” said Madame DeMarch, a secretive twinkle in her eye, “this next lot comes to us as part of Eladia Galven’s private stock.”
Oohs and aahs flitted through the crowd, drawing a series of gasps and small whispers. Many people shuffled forward, pressing shoulder to shoulder to try and get a better vantage point.
Bastards, Aralyn thought as a woman shorter than her rested a heavily-holo-jeweled hand on her shoulder for balance as she stood on tiptoe to see over the crowd. Her rage at the crowd around her was all-consuming, so she didn’t see the other orachal slave until he was being dragged out of the back.
The man in the gray suit led the next auction item up to the stage and Aralyn’s heart stopped in her chest, her mouth falling open.
“This is 11-A651, one of Eladia’s personal gunsmiths,” said Madame DeMarch.
Though he’d lost some weight and there were cybernetic implants where his eyes used to be, Aralyn recognized the grizzled old who’d raised her. There was Kragg, hands and feet in heavy chains.
“No,” she whispered.
“He’s skilled with many forms of guns, whether new or Old-Earth, and can make modifications that pass eighty-three percent of low-voltage weapon inspections at check points,” DeMarch said. “Since he’s been here for a few rotations, we’ll start low. Do I hear twenty-five thousand credits?”
An arm shot up, followed by another, then a third. When it was at forty-five thousand creds, DeMarch put a hand to her ear as though listening.
“A dark bidder has put it at fifty thousand. Do I hear sixty?”
Aralyn sidled closer to Apollo and grabbed his arm with shaking hands. This is where Kragg has been? For how long?
“Bid on that man, now,” she demanded, squeezing him tight. “I don’t care what it costs you.”
“These aren’t even the best lots,” Apollo said, shooting her a withering glare and trying to remove his arm from her viselike grip.
“If you don’t bid on him right now, I will put my gun in your mouth and turn your skull into a serving dish,” Aralyn growled, taking her handgun out of her holster and pressing it against his ribs. “Do it.”
Kita sent her a quizzical look, but then her eyes widened when she caught sight of Aralyn’s terrified expression and the gun in her hand. Carefully, she sidled closer to block the weapon from the view of anyone behind them who might be paying attention.
“Do we have seventy-five?” called DeMarch, scanning the group in front of her.
Apollo raised his arm, annoyance clear in the motion.
“Seventy-five!” She listened a moment longer. “We have ninety from a dark bidder! Do we have ninety-five?”
Apollo turned and glared at Aralyn. “I’m not spending one
hundred thousand credits on an old man!”
“You will or you won’t live to be one yourself,” Aralyn said, jamming the gun in deeper. “Bid. Now.”
Apollo raised his arm again, shouting, “One hundred thousand.”
A ripple of shock went through the crowd.
DeMarch beamed as she repeated the number and asked for any other bidders to join in. No one was willing, and the dark bidders went silent. She clapped her hands and pointed to Apollo. “Sold, to Mr. van Dien for one hundred thousand credits! So generous!”
Scatters of polite applause punctuated Aralyn’s awareness. Relief washed over her like a wave. She holstered the gun. “When do we get to go down to see them?”
Apollo sent a baleful glare her way. “When all the bidding is over,” he pouted. “And you’d better explain to me why I just spent a hundred grand on a dried-up old man who makes guns.”
“All you need to know is that bidding on him saved your life,” Aralyn said as she watched the gray-suited man parade Kragg back to the stairwell where another worker took him down below the deck.
Seven more people were called up on the block, including a former UDA ship mechanic, a gourmet chef, and a combat sniper with a 115 percent hit rate thanks to a colorful gadget protruding slightly from his right temple. Aralyn felt like she was walking through a nightmare, wondering if anything worse would happen before they got to Kragg.
But even more than fear, all she could feel was guilt. She was so overwhelmingly disgusted by the casual dehumanization of the people up on the stage that her brain was numb. All this time… How many years had she spent feeling like she was better than these people because she refused to take part in the sale of orachal? How many people had lived and died in captivity because it was easier for “good” people to turn a blind eye and bitch and moan about injustice while they were really just pretending they didn’t see the injustice happening right in front of their faces?
And she wouldn’t have ever been any the wiser to it if it weren’t for the fact that someone she loved had been taken.
“We’re the same. We don’t get involved in something unless someone makes it personal.”
Aralyn hung her head as the last bid was entered and Madame DeMarch gave several delighted bows that brought her polite, scattered applause.
“Thank you so much for your participation,” she said, grinning out over the slave traders like they were close family gathered for a birthday party. “For those of you who didn’t bid or didn’t win, you’ll get your chance again sometime soon! Our next location will be sent to you via secure channels. Those of you who are picking up your goods tonight will be called down by your lot number, which has just been sent to your modules.”
Several beeps and jingles pinged through the air, and Apollo lifted his arm to look at a small wrist module. He pressed a button and a holo-screen popped up with “11-A651” on it in blocky letters. Others around him did the same, while some lifted phones, tablets, or other devices to check their own numbers. The crowd thinned out and only the people waiting on their “goods” were still there while the others headed for their ships.
Madame DeMarch, her bodyguard, and the old codger with her all proceeded to the door that led to the lower decks. On the holo screen above the stage, the lot number “9-O765” lit up. Two people, a man in a pinstriped suit and another in what looked like a vinyl jacket with metal studs, broke away from the crowd and headed for the door.
Kita tugged on Aralyn’s arm. “On the stage… Was that him…?”
Aralyn nodded, her throat too constricted to speak.
Apollo turned around, a glare on his face as he initialed an area on his module to prepare a payment.
“Mind telling me why the hell I just spent a hundred grand on a fucking gunsmith at the threat of my own life?” he kept his voice low, but the aggravation still came through. “Who the hell is that guy?”
“The reason I’m here to begin with,” Aralyn answered. “My adoptive father.”
“Shit,” said Apollo, his rage diminished. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“Sorry for threatening you,” she said, feeling sheepish. “I didn’t have time to explain.”
“We can always settle the repayment details later,” said Apollo with a grin.
Before she could reply, Caden’s voice came over her earpiece.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “Ships are heading out. You guys all right?”
“Yeah,” said Aralyn, while Apollo turned away to schmooze with other buyers. “We made the bid, and now we’re waiting.” She wanted to tell him more about who they were “buying,” but was afraid she’d blow her cover with tears. “We’ll update you when we have more info.”
Caden went silent and another lot number flashed on the screen.
“How long is this supposed to take?” whispered Kita to Aralyn. “We’ve already been here an hour, and I know you’re itching to get down there.”
“I don’t know,” said Aralyn. “But you’re right. I’m afraid if they don’t call us down there soon, I’m going to storm the damn place to get him out.”
The two women continued to follow their “boss” around the deck as he spoke to other patrons for what seemed like an eternity. When “11-A651” finally appeared on the board, Aralyn felt an excited thrill run through her. She practically tugged Apollo’s arm off to get him to notice the announcement.
Once he realized what was going on, Apollo gave a small bow to the woman he was talking to. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I’ve business to attend to.”
The older woman, whose bun was severe and face even more so, still managed to chuckle as they parted.
“Another time, Mr. van Dien,” she said, and turned away to speak to yet another slave trader waiting for their lots.
As they left the group and headed for the door leading down below, Aralyn frowned at their enigmatic partner. “How can you be so polite with them?” she asked. “They’re buying people. We just watched them auction off human beings who were so drugged up they didn’t know who or where they were. And you’re out there having pleasant chats like it’s a day at the fucking races.”
Apollo glanced back at Aralyn, his face unreadable. “That is how the game is played; it does not matter if I like it or not. I haven’t been to an auction in years, and I have to make them believe that everything was fine. That nothing had changed. If I came in acting quiet and withdrawn, they would know that was not Apollo van Dien. They would know that was an imposter.”
“Why did you stop coming?” asked Kita as they reached the doorway.
“Personal reasons,” Apollo said after a second of thought.
“We could have just snuck in and taken out the guards,” Aralyn pointed out. “You didn’t need Kita and I here just so you could reminisce with your former friends. Hell, we could’ve used the ship to kill a good number of them.”
Apollo opened the door and ushered them inside with a sweep of his arm. “This is true,” he agreed. “But you might also have killed a number of innocents, as well. In my line of work, I have found that flattery and verbally disarming someone’s fears gets you a lot farther than a gun to the head.” He looked briefly over at Aralyn. “Or to the back. Shall we?”
Aralyn nodded and went inside the entryway.
The interior of the ship was nautically themed, with decorative anchors and life preservers dotting the stairway that led down to another door at the bottom. She quickly scoped out the ceiling and walls, looking for any cameras, but couldn’t see anything. Kita followed her inside and stepped onto the landing, eyeing the long stairway to the bottom. Once Apollo had joined them inside, he closed the door.
Kita lifted her shirt to reveal a thin, clear plastic tablet tucked securely into the waist of her pants and poked around on the screen until she was satisfied. “No cameras below decks on the schematics, and I can’t dig any further to check if there are others, because this system is sensitive,” she said. “Well, there is
actually a camera recorded in here, but that’s in a large room at the back that I think is the office.”
“It’s where they keep the money while they’re out,” Apollo explained. “No one can enter that room without permission and a digital fingerprint scan. There’s no way in, and I would know; I have tried. Now come, we have very little time before your beast of a man comes storming in here after us.”
At any other time, Aralyn might have risen to Caden’s defense, but there was still a suspiciously knuckle-shaped dark purple bruise on Apollo’s cheek from his first meeting with the former Inspector, so she figured he had a right to his anger. Besides, she grumbled to herself as they descended the stairs, Caden had been more beast than man lately. He’d been so consumed in tracking his father down that nothing else had even mattered. So, to mitigate the guilt she felt for not defending him, Aralyn changed the subject.
“Where do we go to get Kragg?” she asked.
Apollo hesitated. “Well, about that…”
“What?” Aralyn said, eyes narrowing. “What about ‘that?’”
“We will need to get the safe first,” he said, speaking slowly so as not to offend her. “I know that this is important to you, but there is only one chance we have to get into Eladia’s quarters, and that’s on the way to the sale finalizing room.”
“No way,” Aralyn demanded. “We have to go get Kragg! I can’t risk losing him again!” Her hands began to shake, and she clenched them into fists.
“Just listen to me, okay?” Apollo said. “There are no guards on the way to that room and it’s customary for DeMarch to wait for her patrons a while before announcing the lot they’re waiting on again, so we’d have time.”
“How much time?” Kita asked.
“Around thirty minutes,” Apollo admitted. “That gives us about ten minutes to get in, fifteen to crack the safe and get what’s in there, and five to get back to DeMarch before they make a second call. Once we get your old man, we’ll be leaving out a different door. There will be no other way to access her private cabin.”
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