by Kyle, Celia
“What’s being sold there?” Lamira points to a stall. Vials and closed containers line the table as several guards with very visible blasters stand sentry.
“Drugs and pharmaceuticals that would otherwise be prohibited in other parts of the galaxy,” I say with grim remembrance of the guard duty the Hael Hounds were contracted for on Hipsa II. “You want to steer far away from drug merchants.”
“And what about there?” Lamira points this time toward another stall where several women and some men are standing, scantily clad.
“Slaves,” I whisper. Markets for sapient species have been outlawed through most of the Alliance, Coalition and the IHC. But several powers like the Helios Combine still operate on a slave-based economy. Several principalities, states, and kingdoms that make up the League of Non-Aligned Races have no restrictions on trading people.
I quickly proceed to the tamer parts of the ramshackle market.
Marion, provided with a list of required items from Jax, takes the lead in steering the women. As we enter the market proper, I immediately notice surreptitious glances being cast our way. It only takes a few before I decide this will go badly for all of us if I don’t make myself scarce.
I call Lamira to my side and inform her of the plan.
“I’ve been noticing a lot of interested glances coming our way, so I can’t accompany you as a group. Let Varia and Marion know that we need to split up, but I’ll keep a tail on you visually and via Varia’s comm cuff. I’m just going to hang back a bit. Try not to move too fast. I don’t want to lose you.”
Truer words were never spoken. As soon as I say them, I wonder if she knows how much I mean it.
She nods grimly before giving me a brilliant smile. “We’ll be fine, Grantian. Me most of all. You don’t have to worry.”
Her words are a salve for my anxious heart, as if she somehow knows how much I fear her being harmed. How badly I want to reach out to her, to cup her cheek in my hand and run my fingers over her skin as her luminous eyes gaze up into mine.
One day. One day not far from now, I’ll do just that, once I’ve managed to convince myself that I’m not completely losing my mind. When I know beyond a doubt that this beautiful creature is my jalshagar, blessed by the Precursors that I still do not believe truly exist.
She throws me a final, beaming smile and a cheeky wink before turning back to Varia and Marion. I watch her rejoin the two other women and lead them deeper into the market, toward the meat and livestock section, bidding me a quick farewell with a wave of her hand.
She follows directions beautifully. She moves purposefully, perusing each of the stalls. As she consults her half of the list, she inspects each item she needs, ensuring they’re of the highest quality before speaking to whomever is in charge about delivery options to the ship.
She’s so confident, so sure of herself. I can’t help but chuckle to myself as I think of how I’d once thought her to be a wilting flower, in constant need of protection. But she doesn’t falter for even a moment as she speaks with these strangers, a human woman on a planet so far from her home, not seeming to care at all how precarious her situation is.
Or, if she does, maybe she appears so nonchalant about it all because she knows I’m only a few steps away. Maybe, on some level, she knows she’s my jalshagar, and I’ll kill anyone who lays a malicious finger on her.
After finishing her first transaction, she just barely turns toward me. She glances over her shoulder, almost shyly, and meets my gaze. I nearly come completely undone as her lips pull into a precocious grin. A moment later she moves onto the next stall, and I know then I’ll follow her anywhere.
Chapter Nine
Lamira
“Hey.” Varia slows her pace enough that we walk abreast through the teeming, odiferous Kyvos marketplace. “What’s up with Grantian? Why is he skulking a block back?”
“He figured he was drawing too much attention to our group, and he was right.” I shrug, downplaying the fact that I ache for his presence. I’m trying not to take it personally.
“Yeah, I noticed a lot of stares, too.” She gestures at the market. “A lot of different sapients are here, but we were the only mix of Kilgari and human.”
What she says is true. This type of no man’s land attracts sapients from all corners of the galaxy. To our side, a lanky Alzhon with a metal plate on his temple squints intently at a power converter circuit board while the Kilgari proprietor looks on and rubs his palms together in glee. A pair of Shorcu peer down the scope of second hand blaster rifles, and judging from the scowls on their scaled, three-eyed faces they are none too impressed. Meanwhile, the boisterous laugh of an Odex chef carries out into the main thoroughfare of the market as he hawks his authentic, hearty Rauth stew.
Since we’re on the edge of League and IHC space, there’s a human presence as well, but it’s far from a sanctioned one. These are the loners—the outcasts and the criminals who can’t abide normal society, so they cluster at places like Kyvos. Somehow, I find their presence more disturbing than that of the alien sapient races.
There’s a kind of quiet desperation among humans when they interact with non-Alliance sapients. I think it’s because we know we’re smaller, weaker, and more fragile than most of the galaxy at large. That kind of knowledge can make you feel quite vulnerable.
Marion is sort of the unofficial leader of our little shore leave sortie, so Varia and I follow in her wake as she peruses one stall of produce after another. She’s carrying a datapad with an application that compares the nutritional value of nearly every foodstuff in the galaxy and how safe it is to consume for different sapient species. I don’t know how she tells some of the things apart; for example, an Alzhon prickle pear is green, spiky, and about six inches long, but that’s almost exactly what the highly venomous trukula pod native to the Shorcu home world looks like.
I’m glad I’m not the one in charge of buying our food, or everyone would get sick or worse.
Marion lifts a teardrop-shaped, indigo thing that most resembles a small Terran squash and holds it near her ear. She taps on the side several times and listens intently, before a scowl crosses her face.
“Is good, yah?” The scabby Vakutan behind the counter apparently lacks a translation chip and instead relies upon a none too stable command of Galactic Standard. “Me give you good, good price.”
“Not on overripe fruit, you won’t.” She tosses the fruit back into the pile in disgust. “This would be half rotted by the time we finished the calc for superluminal speed.”
“No, is good. Picked fresh.”
“Picked fresh two months ago. Sorry, not interested.”
The Vakutan unfolds onto slender, rickety limbs and hobbles out from his stand. He grabs Marion by her filthy sleeve and smiles, showing a very gap-toothed mouth.
“No. No such thing as no interest. I have other stock. Fresher.”
Varia moves forward and I cringe, expecting her to bust what’s left of the Vakutan’s teeth out, but Marion subtly shakes her head. Varia reluctantly holds off her advance, but her steely eyed gaze remains fixed upon the Vakutan. We follow as the Vakutan merchant leads Marion through the filmy curtain separating his one-story hovel from the street proper.
Inside, I cover my nose because the air is thick with rotting vegetation. Black flies the size of peanuts buzz through the air, nasty looking little buggers with blood-red wings. I’m a bit dubious that any of this stuff is safe to eat, but the Vakutan sweeps a tattered muslin cloth off of an open-faced wooden bin. Inside, stacked as neatly as possible given their different sizes, are more of the same indigo fruit from outside.
Marion picks one up and does the same tap check she did outside, but this time her face doesn’t wrinkle up in disgust. While her expression remains carefully neutral, I can tell she’s pleased with the condition of his wares—at least, these in particular.
“These are acceptable.” Marion pulls out the credstick Jax gave to her. “Shall we say one hundred creds
for this entire bin?”
“One hundred?” The Vakutan gapes in mock disbelief. “For such fine foods? They’re worth hundred fifty. Easy.”
Marion doesn’t seem too shocked by his offer, and I suspect she may have low balled her own bid in an effort to get a good negotiating platform.
“One hundred and fifty is rather steep. These fruits are stunted. Obviously, they were treated with pesticides that inhibited their full growth. I can’t, in good conscience, pay more than one hundred and twenty credits for the lot.”
The Vakutan’s ridged face screws up in thought. He shakes his head slowly, as if considering her offer.
“I don’t know….it seems you take advantage of old Abo. My children are starving. One hundred forty, and you will help me prepare these for transit with your young, strong greaser back.”
“One hundred twenty-seven if you want my help. Otherwise I might be willing to go up to one hundred thirty-five.”
Abo’s eyes glitter for a moment, but then he coughs and adopts a somber frown.
“I suppose my children can make do with crumbs for one more day. Very well, one hundred thirty-five, and old Abo will throw out his back loading them for you.”
Abo spits in his palm, and then he and Marion shake. I cringe at the thought of doing something so unhygienic, but Marion didn’t bat an eye and neither did Varia. I guess that’s how they do it in places like this.
While Abo works to load our sled with the fruit, cursing in Vakutan the entire time, Marion sends Varia and me across the street to another stall to pick up some pika melons she’s already deemed worthy of our food stores. The melons are fat, heavy yellow things with a weird jagged stem that resembles a lightning bolt. To my taste, they are ridiculously sweet to the point of annoyance, but if you mix the juice with vodka, it becomes most palatable.
This merchant isn’t nearly as dramatic as Abo, but there’s another problem. Four gross of pika melons won’t quite fit on our hover sled. Varia and I wind up slinging mesh sacks brimming with pika melons over our shoulders. Shit. Where’s Grantian? I could use a big, strong man right about now.
Varia and I move across the street to Abo’s stand while the Vakutan merchant and Marion finish up their deal. I’m tempted to rest my burden on the ground, but I needed Varia’s help to get the stupid sack over my shoulder the first time, and it looks like Marion won’t take long.
But their conversation goes on, and on, and I continually shift which hand grips the rawhide thong holding the sack closed. God, hurry up, Marion. I can’t stand around and hold this all day.
To distract myself, I start eavesdropping on the conversation between a pair of human men at arms who guard the wares of a spirits merchant. Judging from the paunch sticking out from under the breastplates of their class-two hard armor, I’d say they’ve been doing garrison duty for some time.
“Did you hear they’re raising the rent in the crescent quarter?”
“Again?” His fellow sighs, and his eyes roll to the skies behind his green visor. “Damn. I just put a down payment on a hover car.”
“New?”
“I wish. Second hand. I need to find a better paying gig.”
His fellow’s mouth grows tight and thin. When he speaks, it’s in a much lower tone. “I heard about a sweet paying gig, cred and carry. No taxes.”
“Fuck, you been holding out on me, Red?”
“Piss off, man. I’m not your fucking secretary. I just remembered Billy telling me about it last night. Thousand creds per week, tax free, room and board provided on site.”
“Yeah, so who do I have to kill?”
Red laughs, and I feel an icy chill race down my spine. That was not a laugh born of real humor but of anxiety. “No one…you just have to be okay with the, um…body merchant business.”
There’s a long pause and then his fellow speaks again. “Let’s say that I am. How would I go about enlisting?”
“You know Tartus?”
“That shit hole? Just one settlement on the entire fucking planet?”
“Well, there’s an abandoned base on one of its moons, and that’s where the, uh, merchants in question have set up their operation.”
“What’s the moon called?”
“Solace.”
My jaw goes slack, and the rawhide string slips from my nerveless fingers. The bottom layer of Pika fruit splatters with a wet, noisy crunch, staining my disheveled shoes and drawing the attention of nearly everyone on the street.
Including the two human guards, who don’t look too happy at all that I’ve heard every word that they said.
This isn’t good.
Chapter Ten
Grantian
What the fuck is going on?
Tensing, I watch as Lamira gasps in shock and drops her fruits onto the ground, several bursting on impact like hand grenades. A few passers-by jump to the side to avoid being splattered, glaring at Lamira with annoyance, and a dirty-looking Odex even snaps his fangs at her.
Immediately, a healthy dose of adrenaline slips into my bloodstream as I prepare for the worst. Gritting my teeth, I take a few steps forward so I can see what’s happening, and that’s when I notice the guards standing next to Lamira. They’re human, the two of them, and they’re wearing class-two hard armor. These fuckers won’t be easy to put down with just my handgun.
Looking over the crowd, I watch as one of the guards, a burly man with a shabby beard, hits the other with his elbow. Once he has his friend’s attention, he tilts his chin toward Lamira. Slinging their rifles over their shoulders, they push a couple of Odex to the side and walk toward her.
Instinctively, I drop one hand to my waist and feel the handle of my pistol, its cold metal easing my nerves. If push comes to shove, I’ll just put a bullet into these assholes’ skulls and be done with it. They might be wearing a set of hard armor, but their faces are uncovered.
That’s my last resort, though.
I do that and this entire marketplace will turn into a fucking battlefield.
“Move it, you golden bastard,” a Vakutan says, shoving me to the side as he walks past me, two crates of ammunition dangling from his hands. My fingers tighten around the handle on my gun, but the Vakutan just goes on his way, grumbling under his breath. “Fucking Kilgari.”
Holding my breath, I return my attention to the guards, watching as they kneel next to Lamira and help pick up the pika melons. They seem to be telling her something, which draws a nervous laugh out of her. Even from a distance, I can tell she’s scared. Her posture indicates she’s trying to put some distance between her and the guards, but they don’t seem to be getting the hint. Either these two idiots are completely clueless, or they’re not interested in letting her go.
I keep my eyes peeled, my heart hammering, and it takes all I have not to barge into the scene. It’d be so damn easy to shove these guards aside and beat them to a pulp. Still, I have to trust that Lamira can take care of herself. And if she can’t, I’m more than ready to keep my promises.
No one’s going to lay a finger on her.
“Thank you. Thank you,” I hear her say, the distinctive bright pitch of her voice enough for my heart to skip a beat. Even now, with adrenaline coursing through my veins, I can’t shake the magnetic pull of the mating bond.
Taking a deep breath, I push those thoughts to the back of my mind and focus on the situation. By now Lamira is bowing her head at the guards as she ties a knot around the rawhide holding the melons. Once that’s done, she takes a couple of steps backward. The guards follow her with their gaze for a couple of heartbeats, but then they just look at each other and shrug. Turning on their heels unceremoniously, they return to their position, right in front of the spirits stall.
“Fuck,” I breathe out, finally letting go of my gun as the adrenaline in my veins gives way to a sense of relief. I keep my eyes on the guards for a few seconds more, just to make sure they’re not plotting anything, and then turn around to see where Lamira has gone.
&nbs
p; She’s pretending to be looking at cuts of fresh meat on a stall by the other side of the street, but once she realizes I’m looking at her, she gives me a barely noticeable signal with her hand. Knowing she wants me to follow after her, I push my way through the crowd.
“That’s my girl,” I mutter under my breath, watching as she puts some distance between her and the guards. She knows the bastards would think it suspicious if she started talking with a Kilgari right now, and so she’s drawing me away from them. I follow her into a small alleyway, one cramped with stalls built with rotten wood and salvaged canvas, and then she makes a sharp turn right and disappears. “What the…?”
“In here,” she whispers, and I turn right to see a merchant’s tent hiding between two stalls of used parts for racing pods. Pushing the entrance flap to the side, I walk inside the tent. Lamira is standing right by the entrance, looking down at a couple of worn comms units, and she throws me a nervous smile once she’s sure no one’s watching us.
“What was that?” I whisper, resisting the urge to hold her down and check her skin for any bruises. Even though I’m reasonably sure the guards didn’t touch her, part of me wants to be absolutely certain. “What did those assholes want? Did they hurt you?”
“They just wanted to help me with the fruit,” she replies, but an undertone of anxiety lies in her voice. “I was listening to their conversation, and I thought that they had noticed me eavesdropping on them… but I guess I got lucky. They just wanted to help me out.”
“That was it?”
“Well, one of them asked me if he could buy me a drink.”
“He what?” I growl, suddenly forgetting we’re not supposed to draw any attention. While before I was ready to kill the guards if they tried to hurt Lamira, now I want to kill them for an entirely different reason. Whether she knows it or not, she’s my mate, and no fat asshole with a rusty breastplate and a pocket full of credits is going to change that.