by Mike Kupari
The three mercenaries left behind weren’t the only ones unhappy to remain with the ship. “No,” Marcus said firmly, looking his daughter in the eye. “Absolutely not.”
“But Dad!” Annie protested.
Marcus was having none of it. “This place is a shithole. You are not to leave the ship under any circumstances. Your mother is already going to kill me when she finds out about that Combine ship shooting at us, and now you want me to bring you out in to a place like this? No way. Besides, you’re still a member of the crew. You’ve got work to do.”
“I know,” Annie pouted. “I just want to help you. You need somebody to watch your back, otherwise a crazy cyborg might choke you out again.”
Marcus immediately regretted letting his daughter talk him into divulging the details of that incident. “Listen, darlin’, I know you’re worried, but I’ll be okay. Believe it or not, I used to be pretty good at this kind of stuff. I’m in my element.”
Annie stepped forward and squeezed her father tightly. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I promise,” Marcus said, hugging his daughter.
“And look out for Wade,” she said. “You know how he is. He’ll get killed.”
“I’m standing right here!” Wade protested. Marcus laughed.
Freeport was every bit as dirty, cluttered, and dangerous as Halifax had warned. The present city was built entirely too close to the spaceport, and every time a ship would lift off or land the foundations of every building would shake. Marcus wondered what the long-term effects of radiation exposure were like for the residents. Most ships had takeoff and landing modes for their engines which reduced the overall output and contained the radiation, but still, there was a reason spaceports weren’t usually located next to residential areas.
The part of the city the trio of off-worlders were making their way through was actually the nicer part of town. Even though it was early in the morning, a few areas were busy and crowded with people. Bars, nightclubs, and drug dens lined the streets. There were arcades, brothels, souvenir shops, and casinos, every imaginable way of separating weary spacers from their money.
Yet aside from pickpockets and the occasional odd intoxicated belligerent, this part of Freeport was relatively safe. The city of Freeport and the spaceport were controlled and managed by a cabal of local elites called The Board, Halifax had explained. Their current chairman, a man named Frank DeWitt, was deadly serious about keeping peace and order in his city. There weren’t a lot of rules, but it was best to abide by them. Security men known as Enforcers patrolled the streets in pairs, heavily armed and looking for trouble. If you caused problems, if you were bad for business, or if you committed fraud, it was as likely as not you’d end up buried in the desert with a bullet hole in your head.
Away from the spaceport, in the slums and shantytowns, it was another matter. There were places there that even the Enforcers wouldn’t go, where violent street gangs fought for turf, resources, or merely because life on Zanzibar was cheap and generally short. Beyond the walls of the city, there was no law except for that which Aristotle Lang had imposed. There had once been more warlords, but he had eliminated all the competition. There were scattered, isolated independent settlements all across the planet, but many of them were under the thumb of Lang now. He’d been building his army for years, and it was no secret that he had his sights on Freeport. The city-dwellers had better access to off-world tech and weapons, but they were outnumbered by those living outside. People had taken to having large families to survive and to counter the high child mortality rate, and the population outside the city had been steadily growing for decades.
Marcus could see the writing on the wall. Sooner or later, Lang would attempt to take Freeport. If his forces got inside the walls, they’d sack the city and possibly burn it to the ground out of spite. There were plenty of criminals and degenerates, many of them fugitives from off-world, who’d be willing to fight for a man like Lang for the money and the chance to loot the city. It bothered Marcus that the ransom money the captain was paying would merely go to help the warlord buy weapons, but there was nothing he could do about that. He had a job to do, and saving Zanzibar from itself wasn’t it.
The planetary network was patchy and unreliable, but Wade was able to get enough signal to locate the address of their present destination. Lana didn’t know anything about the place other than its name: The Blue Manx. To Marcus, that sounded shady, like a nudie bar or a brothel. He wasn’t surprised, then, when they turned down an alley and came to the entrance of the place. Prostitutes in outfits as revealing as the harsh wind would allow stood by the entrance. Some were men, most were women, and a few were indeterminate, especially with respirator masks on. They welcomed would-be patrons as they made their way down the alley, and bid those leaving a fond farewell. Thumping, harsh industrial music echoed down the alleyway like a shattering pane of glass. One side was flanked by a crumbling prewar ruin and on the other by a housing project. A huge, cracked screen over the door depicted the name of the place. Occasionally, a blue, tailless cartoon cat would chase an animated sex worker across the screen, tongue hanging out lustfully.
“Classy,” Wade said, his voice muffled by his respirator. Marcus chuckled.
Lana didn’t see the humor in the situation. “I don’t understand. What . . . what is this place?”
“Seriously?” Wade asked. “It’s a brothel.”
“A what?”
“A whorehouse. A place where you can go pay people to have sex with you.”
Lana’s mouth was concealed behind her mask, but her eyes were wide. “What?” she asked incredulously. “That’s . . . that’s disgusting!”
“You need to lighten up, kiddo,” Marcus suggested. “They say it’s the world’s oldest profession.”
“There are no . . . no houses of whores on Orlov,” she said. “They say that sex without reproduction is a waste of time. Sex is for expanding the population base. Having children serves the state. Such depravity is selfish, putting the individual before the society. It’s something the Proles do.”
“Jesus, what a drag,” Wade said. “No wonder people want to leave so bad.”
“Who’s Jesus?”
“You’re not on Orlov anymore, Lana,” Marcus said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “I know it’s a culture shock for you, but that’s the way things are here. Try to focus on why we’re here.”
“Of course,” she said. “You’re right. It’s just . . . I’ve never done sex before.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll get your chance now,” Marcus said, ushering her forward. “But worry about that later.”
“Yes. I was told to go in here, and say a specific phrase to one of the workers.”
“Which worker?”
“I don’t know. I was told I’d know the person when I saw the person, and that’s all they told me.”
Marcus and Wade looked at each other knowingly. They were both thinking the same thing: the poor girl had been given bad information, and she was in for a serious disappointment. There was nothing to do but try, however, so they went inside.
As on Opal, the buildings on Zanzibar tended to be overpressurized. Not only did it keep out the fine dust, but Zanzibar’s surface atmospheric pressure was as low as it was at five thousand meters above sea level on Earth. Travelers not used to the thin air suffered from dizziness, shortness of breath, headaches, and occasional blackouts. All of these things were unacceptable when you were trying to have sex, so the Blue Manx was pressurized to something much more comfortable for most people.
Marcus’ ears popped as the airlock-like set of double doors cycled. Immediately inside was a dimly lit foyer, with glittering lights and mirrors on the walls. It seemed that on every world, houses of ill repute had the same décor. Two security guards, dressed in black and wearing respirators, glared at the trio as they entered. One, a large burly man, had a pistol holstered on each hip. The other, a rough-looking woman with short hair, ca
rried a short-barreled flechette gun with an honest-to-goodness bayonet affixed under the barrel.
“Welcome to the Blue Manx!” said a slender young woman with a much more personable demeanor. She was in a booth behind armored glass. She had olive skin with intricate, colorful tattoos across it. Her long, dark hair and Asiatic features were accented by glittering jewelry hanging from her ears and belly button. She was topless, dressed only in what looked like short hot-pants and high-heeled boots. “Will that be three?”
Lana’s eyes were wide. Her pale features deeply reddened around her respirator. Who’d have thought the Orlov Combine was full of prudes, Marcus thought. She tried to reply, but stammered something unintelligible, so Marcus stepped forward and removed his mask. “Yes,” he said, turning on the charm and struggling to make eye contact with the woman. “That’s three.”
“Great!” the hostess said. “You can swipe your credit chit here. We also accept hard currency from several sources. Prices and exchange rates are listed on the screen over there. No refunds. Were you three looking for a companion or two for a group activity, or did you just want to go to the bar? We usually recommend first-timers go to the bar.”
Marcus caught his eyes wandering downward to the woman’s ample bosom. He could hardly be blamed; he was a married man, but he wasn’t dead, and she wasn’t exactly being shy. “Yes,” he said with a grin. “I think the bar will be best. We’re first-timers.”
“Great!” the hostess repeated. She pointed to a closet behind Marcus after scanning his credit card. “All patrons are required to remove hats, coats, respirators, goggles, and weapons before entering, for the safety of our staff and to keep the dust out.” She slid him a small plastic card. “I’ve given you a large locker for your personal effects. It should be big enough for all three of you. If you need more space, come back and see me!”
“Will do, darlin’,” Marcus said with a grin. “C’mon guys, let’s put our stuff away and go inside.”
Having left his hat, long duster coat, goggles, respirator, and sidearm in the locker, Marcus took his compatriots and entered the main part of the club. Inside, electronic music pulsed over a sound system. Naked women danced on one stage, and naked men danced on the other. In one corner, sex robots were available for rent. Marcus didn’t say anything, only nodded at the robots and smiled at Wade.
“Screw you,” Wade said. “Also . . . they don’t even look human.” It was true; the sex robots available were not designed to mimic the human form. They were angular and metallic, possessed of jointed, articulated arms and mechanical claws.
Marcus shrugged. “Robosexuals. I doubt it’s the strangest thing going on in here.” Scattered across the room were chairs, couches, and tables, all covered in plastic, where patrons sat and chatted with the staff before being led into the sex rooms.
At a nearby table, a man was getting a lapdance from a naked woman. Lana was aghast. “What a bunch of degenerates!” she sputtered. With her cloak and mask removed, her face was fully visible, even in the dim light. She self-consciously tried to adjust her hair to cover the gray synthetic plate on the left side of her head, where her electronic comrade had been. Her hair was short and it didn’t fully hide the ugly blemish on the side of her face.
Lana gasped as a woman’s arm reached over her shoulder, around her face, and gently caressed the side of her head. One of the Blue Manx’s staff had snuck up behind her and was now pressing her breasts into Lana’s back. Her fingers gently ran across the spot where the ECCOM had been located.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” she asked softly. “Is this your first time in a place like this?” The woman’s pageboy haircut was a bright, metallic blue. Her fingernails were painted to match. She wore a very short, very tight evening dress, also a metallic blue, and matching high-heeled shoes. Glowing bracelets and earrings accented her style in the dim light. She spoke Commerce English with the same accent that Lana did, though it wasn’t nearly so pronounced.
Wade leaned over to Marcus with a grin. “That’s what I’m talking about!” Marcus elbowed his partner, but didn’t disagree with his assessment: the woman was a goddess.
Poor Lana seemed too terrified to move. “I . . . I . . . I’m looking for someone!” she blurted out, pulling away from the blue woman’s embrace. She turned to face her, then looked down. “I’m sorry. This is all new for me.”
“Oh, sweetie,” the blue woman said, “it’s okay.” She reached forward and caressed the side of Lana’s head, again touching the plate where here ECCOM had been. “I know you’re not from around here.” With her left hand, she brushed back her own hair, revealing a synthetic plate of her own. “It’s hard, getting used to life in the real world,” she said. “I’ve been where you are. My name is Lucy.”
Lana’s eyes were wide. “The winds of time carry away all things,” she said.
“And all things are dust in the wind,” Lucy replied. “What’s your name, child?”
“Lana Nine-Zero-Eight-Nine-Zero,” Lana answered, looking up into Lucy’s eyes, almost in shock.
“Not any more, honey. That was your slave designation. People have names, not numbers.”
“Just Lana, then,” she said quietly.
Lucy leaned in close to Lana, almost like she was going to kiss her, but stopped short. “Welcome home, sister,” she said.
“My . . . my friends here helped me escape,” she stammered, a tear rolling down her cheek.
“Ma’am,” Marcus said professionally. “My name is Marcus Winchester. I need your help.”
Chapter 26
The Privateer Ship Andromeda
Freeport Spaceport, Equatorial Region
Zanzibar
Captain Catherine Blackwood checked herself on her screen one last time. Her sage green flight suit was crisp and fresh. She straightened her leather flight jacket, gold wings on her left breast and the four gold captain’s bars on each shoulder. The peaked cap, the one she almost never wore, was sitting perfectly on her head, very slightly cocked to one side. Behind her command chair, Wolfram von Spandau stood quietly, striking an imposing figure with his shoulders squared and his hands folded behind his back.
On one of Catherine’s screens, Mordecai Chang’s face appeared. It took some prodding, but he, too, had cleaned up his normally disheveled appearance. Catherine wasn’t able to coax him out of his tiny cabin, but there wasn’t really any reason for the eccentric purser to be on the command deck anyway. She needed him to be on top of his game, and that meant keeping him in his comfort zone. Mordecai was not the social type, and he didn’t like to deal with people face-to-face.
The command deck of the Andromeda was unusually quiet. Aside from Catherine and her exec, it was deserted, and the hatches were closed. For highly sensitive negotiations like this, she needed to be able to focus and not have any distractions.
“Are you ready, Kapitänin?” Wolfram asked.
She took a deep breath. “I am. Let’s do this. Mordecai, make the call.”
“Yes ma’am,” Mordecai said. “Stand by.”
Though outwardly she projected the perfectly calm demeanor of confident command, Catherine’s heart was racing. She’d sent a message to Aristotle Lang upon arriving in-system, and again after landing. The only response was a terse text message telling her when to place a video call to begin negotiations. She didn’t know what to expect when the call went through. What if something happened to Cecil? What if he’s been tortured? It had taken her an awfully long time to get to Zanzibar.
Catherine’s heart jumped up into her throat as Cecil’s face appeared on the screen. Apart from dark circles under his eyes, and the facial lines of a man who drank too much, her brother looked no worse for wear. “Hello, Cat,” he said with a weak smile. “It’s . . . it’s good to see you.”
“Cecil . . .” she said, trailing off. She couldn’t help but let her expression soften. She hadn’t seen him in years, but he was still her baby brother. She had carried him around when he wa
s an infant, played with him as a child, and hugged him as he cried after their mother passed away. “It’s good to see you too, little brother.”
“I was worried you wouldn’t come.”
“I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.” Catherine took a deep breath. It was time to get down to business. “Tell me, Cecil, where was our secret hiding spot as children?”
“What?”
“Where was our secret hiding spot as children? The one we never told anyone about.”
“Oh! My God, I can’t believe you remember that. It was in that grove of trees on the northwest corner of the estate. We hid there for a day after you broke mother’s Earth-native vase.”
“I didn’t break that vase, Cecil,” Catherine said, unable to stop smiling. “You broke that vase and I got blamed for it.” She was relieved. There’s no way anyone but Cecil would know that. She’d just verified that it was him, and not a trick.
“That’s not how I remember it, Cat,” he said coyly. “It’s good to see you. Thank you for coming all the way out here.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time I got you out of trouble, would it now? Are you well?”
“As well as can be expected,” he said.
“He is quite well, I assure you, Captain!” Aristotle Lang said, stepping into view. He sounded pompous, overconfident, but Catherine could tell he was not a man to take lightly. He was a stocky man with a bald head, dressed in a gaudy fur coat. “I am a businessman, not a monster. I have no interest in damaging the merchandise! As you can see, your brother is quite well. Once we’ve settled the small matter of payment, he’s all yours, and you can be on your way home.”
Mordecai Chang chimed in. “Our correspondence is all months out of date at this point, but I don’t believe you have specified a price. I am sending you what I think you’ll find is a very generous offer.”