by Zoe York
“Not yet.”
Her captor raced around another corner, his shoulder thumping into her stomach with every step, then darted into a maintenance tube. He skimmed down a ladder one-handed, never loosening his grip on her. Under other circumstances, she might have appreciated his athleticism, but at the moment, she was busy being irritated by it. Why couldn’t he slip and fall so she could escape?
She wished she could see who she was dealing with—a feat made difficult by the fact that her face was buried against his back—but she had an inkling. The voice sounded familiar, and who else would want to “rescue” her but the other man who had been bidding on her at the auction? Why did he want her? That was the question. Did she have some other enemy here on the station that she hadn’t accounted for? Her father had acquired a great many enemies, but few had known her face or even that she was his daughter. He had always done his best to protect her identity, both so he could send her in as an assassin and to ensure she wouldn’t be a target for revenge plots against him.
Thinking of him made a lump swell in her throat. She pushed down her emotions. This was not the time for reminiscing.
Her captor descended two more levels, toting her on his shoulder the whole way, and jumped over a “closed for maintenance” sign and into a poorly lit area with panels open in the walls, leaving conduits and wiring on display.
“All right.” The man finally stopped running and set her down, surprisingly gentle as he made sure she had her feet under her before letting go.
Ying gazed behind her, fearing that they had come too far, that too much time had passed. Even if she escaped now, the android would probably be gone. Captain Wolf would find it suspicious if she showed up at his airlock of her own accord.
It was too late; everything she had worked for these last three months was gone. Ruined. She made a choking noise, half frustration, half emotional agony.
“Don’t worry,” the man said. “My buddy said he could handle the android. It won’t find you again. You’re safe.”
“Safe?” Ying spun toward him, her frustration taking the upper hand. “I didn’t want to be safe, you idiot. I planned this all from the beginning. Getting captured, being brought here, getting onto Wolf’s sensor field, everything. For three months. You’ve ruined it all. And why? Because you’re a more deserving slave owner than him, you damned ugly bastard?” She was screaming, her words tumbling out of her mouth in an unedited jumble. If she let go of her anger, she might give in to tears of frustration, and she refused to do that. She jerked at her wrists, annoyed that they were still bound and annoyed by the whole situation.
“No, that’s not it,” the man said, blinking slowly, clearly surprised by her reaction. He was the person who had been bidding against Wolf in the auction. “I’m not—I mean, you’re free. I just wanted to help, to get you away from him.” He stepped back and raised his hands, letting her go, the position said.
Ying could only stare at him, almost speechless by the bleak stupidity of the situation. Aside from her father, nobody had ever tried to rescue her from anything in her life, and now, when she least wanted it, she had some knight on a white horse? Was he telling the truth? Who would risk his life when there was nothing to gain? Nobody did that outside of those legends from Old Earth.
He was handsome enough to be some storybook hero—her “ugly bastard” insult hadn’t been very thought out. He had a clean-cut face with a cleft chin and short, tousled brown hair, along with an earnest-to-please manner that didn’t quite match his tall, muscular frame—all it would take was a scowl to make him an intimidating man. But maybe his earnestness was an act. She couldn’t imagine that he was telling the truth. He must have some ulterior motive.
“Who are you?” Ying demanded, squinting at him, wondering if he might know who she was and be a part of some scheme against her.
“Marat Azarov.”
She fought the urge to roll her eyes; as if a name mattered. “No, who do you work for?”
Confusion crinkled his brow. “Mandrake Company.”
“That’s a mercenary outfit, isn’t it? Did someone hire you to get me?”
“What? No. I’d never seen you before, or heard of you before.” He waved in what might have been the direction of the slave auction; she was too disoriented now to be certain where she was in relation to the rest of the station. “I just wanted to help. That’s all.”
“Well, listen up, Marat Azarov of Mandrake Company. You just screwed up three months’ worth of planning.” Ying closed her eyes, trying not to let the frustration show on her face—in the moisture that wanted to gather in her eyes. She couldn’t imagine how she could get close to Wolf again, not when he would recognize her the next time he saw her. And she didn’t have the finances to cover another three months of planning and scheming.
“I don’t understand,” the man said. “You were...”
“I know what I was,” Ying snapped. “And it was exactly what Wolf was supposed to think I was, exactly what that bastard likes. It was my chance to avenge my father, to kill that animal. You—” She jabbed a finger at his nose, a motion made awkward by the flex-cuffs still binding her wrists together. “You ruined everything.”
Ying whirled, intending to stalk away, though she had no idea where to go or how to get rid of the damned cuffs without being captured by what passed for police on this station. They were all bought men, and they would probably throw her back up on the auction block. Or...
She paused, an idea sparking. Was it possible they would return Captain Wolf’s wayward merchandise? Maybe she could yet make this work. Ah, but she couldn’t be certain about the police. They might just as soon put her into holding, wait for Wolf to leave, then sell her again, cutting in on the slave trade profits. Or one might even try to keep her for himself, a little sport on the side.
Lost in her spinning thoughts, Ying turned a corner and crashed into a man’s chest before she realized he was there.
For a second, hope blossomed—maybe the android had gotten out of trouble and tracked her somehow. But no, it was another of the men from the auction, the one who had been standing next to Marat. Some mercenary chum, no doubt.
He caught her about the shoulders. She lifted her hands, intending to try to knock his arms away and kick him, but what was the point? She slumped instead, her chin dropping to her chest.
“Uh, Azarov,” the man asked, his voice deeper and gruffer than his buddy’s. “You lose something?”
“No.” Marat still sounded dazed.
Assuming this wasn’t all some scheme to trick her, he might truly have thought of himself as some hero, risking his life to save hers. Even so, Ying couldn’t feel anything but annoyed by him and his “help.”
“She’s free to go,” Marat added. “You get rid of that android?”
“Blew it to bits and shoved the bits into the garbage chute.” The big man grinned. Soot smeared his stubbled face, and he smelled of explosives. Still gripping Ying’s shoulders, he looked down at her. He wriggled his eyebrows, as if he expected some prize, and he rubbed her shoulders suggestively. “You the type to reward your rescuers?”
Her defeat fled out of her in the face of new rage. She balled her fists, determined to figure out a way to punch him, the cuffs be damned.
“Let her go, Striker,” Marat said, the icy snarl in his voice startling both of them. He might have been dazed before, but he had recovered, and he stomped toward them.
Her new captor released her and stepped back, lifting his hands. “All right, all right. But don’t forget I’m the ranking non-com around here. I’m supposed to give the orders.”
“We’re on shore leave. You want to order yourself up a room full of porn videos for you and your hand, that’s fine with me, but you’re not in charge of this... this...” Some of the anger faded from his face as he spread a hand toward Ying.
She had no doubt her expression was even bleaker than his. “Ying,” she said, not sure if he knew her name or if that wa
s what he was asking. “And if I’m truly free—” she shot the bigger man a dirty look, wishing she had, indeed, kneed him in the groin, “—I’ll be going now.”
Marat started to nod, but he caught himself, and flung up a hand. “Wait.”
“What?” Ying asked, squinting at him.
“If we really did ruin your plans—” he winced, “—maybe I can make it up to you.”
Ying snorted. “How’re you expecting to do that, mercenary?”
“You need a meeting with Wolf, right? What if...” Marat drummed his fingers on the side of his trousers, then his eyes brightened, a hint of a smile stretching his lips. It was a handsome smile, but Ying doubted she should trust it, doubted she should trust anything that came out of these two’s mouths. “What if I, ah, rescued you because I was so... smitten that I couldn’t stand the idea of you going off with another man, and...”
Ying raised her eyebrows, somewhat amused despite this ridiculous predicament. Smitten wasn’t usually the word men used when they approached her with lustful thoughts in mind.
The second man, Striker, leaned a hand against the wall to watch his comrade cogitate. He looked amused too.
“Yeah,” Marat said, “I was smitten and had to rescue you for myself.” He gave her an apologetic wriggle of his fingers at this. “But, as it turns out, or will turn out, you were too much for me to handle.”
“That I’d believe,” Striker said.
Marat shot him a cool look, but continued playing out his scenario, unperturbed. “In my attempt to treat you to my attentive and conscientious but ultimately unwelcome lovemaking, I was...”
Had he truly said lovemaking?
His buddy rolled his eyes.
“I was nearly knocked out when you slammed a lamp over my head. A heavy lamp. And then you lunged for my pistol, and I scarcely wrested it away from you before you shot me.” Marat pointed at Striker. “I see you smirking over there. You can just keep your mouth shut, Sergeant.”
“Oh, I’ll keep it shut, but you better believe that story is going to be incorporated into one of my comic strips.”
Ying didn’t know what he meant, but she didn’t care. She was busy thinking. Could this scheme work? Would someone who had stolen something from the infamous pirate be stupid enough to walk that stolen something back up to his airlock and apologize? Especially a man who was admitting he wasn’t much of a man at all, because a woman had gotten the best of him? She supposed that a man might do such a thing, especially if he realized his prize wasn’t as grand as he thought, and he was worried about a deadly pirate putting a mark on his head. He might show up, hoping to escape retaliation. Either way, it should take the attention—and suspicion—off Ying. In the end, it was a more reliable way to be walked up to Wolf’s ship than her hope that the police might take her there.
“Fine,” she said, lifting her chin. “Let’s go.”
Striker shook his head, but didn’t look like he meant to stop the situation.
Marat took a step toward Ying, but paused. “Er, for my story to work, we’ll have to wait until morning. As, uh, horny as a man buying bedroom slaves probably is, would he jump a woman five minutes after, ah, liberating her?”
Liberating? Who was this joker? He seemed sheltered, like someone who didn’t belong in this part of the system, and that was odd. Mercenaries didn’t necessarily run afoul of the law as openly and often as pirates, smugglers, and the other rough sorts Ying had spent the last few years around, but she wouldn’t have expected a naive one either. Where had he grown up? Probably in some nice family with a loving mother and father in a neighborhood with a house and a yard and kids out front, playing on bicycles and hover boards.
“Perhaps we should agree to meet somewhere in the morning,” Marat went on.
“So I have to spend the night roaming the station, risking the police stumbling across me and tossing me in a cell?” Ying raised her flex-cuffs. The robe would probably give things away, too; there had been stacks of them in the back of the auction house, suggesting every slave who was sold was taken away in one.
“Can’t you get a room?” Marat asked.
“With what gold? I left everything back at my apartment on—well, not here.” She caught herself before telling these men where she lived; it was none of their business, and she didn’t want to confess to that hovel, anyway, especially when she wasn’t that certain it was still hers, since she hadn’t been there to pay the rent this month. “I knew they’d strip me down and take everything from me, so I didn’t bring anything.”
“You don’t have any money at all?” Marat flexed his index finger, the one where most GalCon citizens had their banking and tracking chips embedded as soon as they were old enough for their first jobs. His face wrinkled with doubt, and she found herself on the defensive. Maybe he thought she was simply some slave, who had never been anything but a slave and had no identity in the greater system.
“I live with pirates, you idiot,” Ying snapped, not sure why his opinion mattered. “Pirate clans aren’t on the banking system and certainly don’t sign up to be tracked by the corrupt ass-licking government.”
“Oh,” Marat mouthed. He looked like a man with a thousand questions.
Ying didn’t want to deal with his curiosity. She was beginning to rethink the idea of going along with his plan. Maybe she should leave him and figure things out on her own. Besides, she didn’t like the idea of being beholden to some stranger. Except that he had screwed everything up for her, however grand his intentions might have been, and she couldn’t help but feel that maybe he owed her this favor.
“Look, it’s fine,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll stay down here somewhere. The police won’t find me. When do you want to meet?”
Marat grimaced at the bleak corridor, with its wires and exposed plumbing snaking everywhere. “No, let me get a room. It’s the least I can do.”
Striker threw his head back and laughed. Ying might have been suspicious all over again, but Marat’s expression was as confused as hers.
After an obnoxiously long minute of laughing, during which Ying and Marat looked at each other as if Striker were nuts, the man let go of his belly and wiped his eyes. “That was so awkward as to almost be smooth, Azarov. You’re trying to get the girl to sleep with you, after all. Oh, man. This volume of my comic is going to be great.”
“I meant to rent the room for her,” Marat said stiffly. “I can sleep on the ship.”
“That doesn’t sound like a very good deal for you,” Striker said, his eyes still twinkling.
“I was going to pay two hundred aurums, at one point today. Rent for a room is a bargain.”
“Uh huh. You’re not really going to go to the ship, are you? You’ll give her that pretty-boy charm of yours and try to slip your way in.” The Neanderthal looked like he was eager to watch this scenario. Ying was starting to fantasize about kneeing him in the groin again, especially since he was talking about her as if she wasn’t standing right there and hearing everything.
“Striker,” Marat growled, “would you do me a favor and run along? I appreciate your help with the android, but I can handle things from here.”
“Oh, I’m sure you think you can. A lamp cracking you in the back of your head will be the least of your worries.”
“Striker.”
The big man lifted his hands again, backing away. “Suit yourself. But I wasn’t joking around earlier. You think you had a problem when Frog pranked you with spiders in your locker? Mandrake will have your head mounted on the wall next to all of his weapons if you get the company wrapped up in a fight with pirates.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Marat looked like he wanted to knee Striker in the groin too.
Ying was beginning to think that everyone who met the man might experience that feeling.
“And you watch out for yourself here too.” Striker had reached the ladder leading back up to the busier corridors, but he paused to frown at Marat. “I know you�
�ve got this weird, noble streak, but this isn’t the place for it. This station, these people, they’ll shoot you in the back just for blocking their view. Her too.” He pointed at Ying. “Pirate family, God. Don’t let a pretty face get you into something stupid. Stupider than this already is. Whatever her problem with Wolf is, it isn’t your fight.”
This time, Marat didn’t say anything. Ying wondered if the words, an unexpected bit of wisdom from such an uncouth bastard, were sinking in. She would be the first to admit that there had been no logical reason for Marat to get tangled up with her mess. If he changed his mind right now and walked away, she wouldn’t blame him. Hell, she ought to root for it. She was doubtlessly being a fool herself for even thinking of trusting him.
Just because she needed help getting out of these cuffs, she told herself.
After heaving a disappointed sigh, Striker disappeared into the ladder well.
Ying watched Marat, waiting for him to change his mind.
For a moment, he stood there, his face grim as he seemed to wrestle with his thoughts. Then he touched his comm-patch—turning it off?—and smiled at her and said, “How about we find that room, eh? And maybe figure out a way to get those cuffs off?”
— THREE —
Marat kept an eye on the passersby as he led Ying back into the busy corridors of the station and toward the lodgings level. He thought it was too soon for Captain Wolf to have figured out what had happened to his slave, especially if Striker had blown that android into as many pieces as he had promised, but that wouldn’t last forever. Some video somewhere had probably captured the incident, and as soon as Wolf could identify the kidnappers...
Marat shook his head, worrying for the fortieth or fiftieth time that he had made a mess, not only for himself but for Mandrake Company, as well. Would he even be welcome back on the ship when he returned? Who knew what Striker would tell the captain? And for what was he risking his new career—and himself? A woman. And not even some innocent victim who had fallen to a slaver’s noose, as he had believed, but the daughter of a pirate, who had knowingly inserted herself into that situation in order to enact some revenge plot. Some plot that had absolutely nothing to do with him.