by Anna Carven
12:31pm
Shit. It was already past midday. No wonder it was so hot. Panic gripped her as she rolled out of bed and tugged on a pair of loose shorts. She was late, and she had nothing for the Collector.
How the hell was she going to talk her way out of this one? She’d think of something; she always did.
“Artoo,” she hissed, peering through a hole in the floorboards. “Who’s out there?”
Seconds later, her little brother pulled himself up the drop-ladder, taking it two rungs at a time. He wore a panicked expression. “First, you bring home some big-shot alien, and now there are mean-looking thugs at our door? What did you do last night, sis?”
“Thugs?” Shit. Mari crossed the floor and peered through the view-hole in the wall, where a small rectangular mirror reflected the entrance below. Standing in the red dust were four dark-suited men. With their slicked back hair and reflective holo-glasses, they reminded her of sharks.
The man in front—the one banging on the door with his big, tattooed fist—was all too familiar. Cold unease swirled around in the pit of her stomach.
“Hey, Blue, don’t waste my fuckin’ time. Ya know what happens to people who waste my time.” His raspy voice penetrated the thin walls, making her skin crawl.
The Collector.
He was here, at her fucking home! The asshole rarely ever ventured out of his domain—gangsters hated getting their feet dirty in the dusty streets of the slums—but now he was here, banging on her door.
She turned to Arturo. “Stay here, little bro. Pull up the drop-ladder and don’t make a sound. Anything happens to me, you know where the treasure chest is. You know what you have to do. Take it and don’t ever look back.”
“No fucking way. I’m not gonna run away and leave you to deal with these dickwads on your own.” He grabbed her arm and looked up at her with eyes that were full of anger and fear and… helplessness. That was the worst thing about living in the Dust Alleys. When the sharks came knocking at your door, there was nothing you could do. Unable to run, fight, or go to the authorities, Mari and Artoo were very much on their own.
“Arturo,” she said, cupping his face in her hands. “You will not do anything to put yourself in danger. Please, Artoo. These people will kill you just for breathing their air. Just stay up here and keep quiet.”
“I’ll climb out of the roof-hatch and run to the nearest Enforcer station.”
Sadness crept over Mari as she shook her head. “Don’t. You really think the Enforcers are going to set foot in the Dust Alleys?” She hated to chip away at Artoo’s naivete—a twelve year old boy should be allowed to have some faith in the world—but she didn’t want Artoo to be logged by Enforcement, especially when there was no chance in hell they’d attend a disturbance all the way out here.
She’d heard the stories. The nature of his complaint—an incident involving organized crime figures—could negatively affect his MQ and ruin his chances of entering the Federation for good.
Not on my watch.
“Artoo, just go.” Mari fought to keep her voice from wavering as she planted a kiss on her brother’s forehead. “I’ll be fine. You know I can talk my way out of almost anything.” She forced a smile.
Boom! A deafening blast came from below, followed by a metallic groan.
A split-second later, there was a monumental crash.
The door had fallen in.
“Artoo, take the treasure chest and get out of here. Don’t argue. Just go.”
“Run with me, sis,” Artoo pleaded. “Let’s leave this shithole and never come back.”
But where would we go? The thought of running away had crossed Mari’s mind many times, but it was pointless.
If they went into Teluria without a Citizen-ID, they’d eventually be caught and deported back to Darkside. If they tried to hitch a ride on an illegal transport, they’d probably end up somewhere even worse, with no credits, no home, and no identity. If they ran into the desert… well, nobody could survive in the desert. There were no roads and no land-vehicles going in and out of Teluria, and worse, she’d heard chilling rumors of crazies and monsters existing out there. Folks had wandered into the desert and disappeared, never to be heard from again.
And everywhere they went in Darkside, they would be followed. The Syndicate had eyes and ears everywhere.
The only way out was by air.
If Mari ran now, they’d catch up with her eventually, and everyone knew what happened to those who ran from the Syndicate.
They’d kill her. They’d dissolve her body in acid and obliterate any trace of her existence from the face of the Earth. Then they would do the same to Artoo just for being with her; just to deter anybody from getting ideas.
He would only be safe if he ran on his own.
“Ya get down here now, honey Blue. I know yer up there. I can smell ya. Don’t make me come up after ya. Ya wouldn’t like it.”
“Artoo, go!” Mari pushed her little brother toward the roof-hatch. To her relief, he got the idea and started to move. She thrust her hand into a tear in her mattress and retrieved the treasure chest—a small grey metal box. Inside were various credit chips and the precious krath. She tossed the box to Arturo. “Should be just enough in there to pay the MQ exam fee and buy a night in a sleeping pod.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. Good thing Artoo was a decent lip-reader. “Remember what we talked about? Go to one of the Teluria gate-offices. You’re already registered for the exam, all you have to do is pay. They’ll log your bio-print and give you a single-entry pass for Teluria. Get inside as quickly as you can, but whatever you do, don’t show them the alien coin. That’s ours. Just do it, little bro, and don’t look back.”
If you don’t see me again… She didn’t say the obvious truth.
Clangclangclang. The drop-ladder fell. Footsteps echoed on the metal rungs. They were coming. Artoo tucked the treasure chest into his jacket and pushed out the roof-hatch, all the while staring at Mari with worried eyes.
“See ya soon,” she said gently, giving him a push. “Now, vamosh.”
Artoo climbed through, easily pulling his slender body through the narrow opening. He turned and glanced back at her, shaking his head. His jaw jutted out at a stubborn angle. “I’m gonna go and find that boss alien who likes you. He would want to know about this.”
“But what can he… Artoo, don’t fuck this up—”
But Artoo was already gone. The hatch dropped into place with a quiet click, just as a familiar figure emerged from below.
The Collector grinned, displaying perfectly black teeth. “Hello, Blue.”
Chapter Twelve
“I’ll do a double shift tonight,” Mari blurted before the Collector had a chance to speak. It was better to try and put out the small fires before they turned into raging infernos. “Lots of tourists around at this time of year. I might even get lucky and find some alien metal.”
The Collector, who Mari knew only as ‘K’, bent his head as he walked across the tiny roof-space. His shiny black shoes echoed loudly on the synth-timber planks.
“Nah.” His unnerving black smile widened, and he clasped his tattooed hands together. His inked fingers were adorned with thick gold and silver rings. “Ya don’t understand, sweet Blue. That ain’t gonna cut it anymore.”
Dread pooled in the pit of Mari’s stomach. “Wh-what are you talking about?”
“Yer time has come, sweet cheeks. I let ya do yer thing here for a while because I like ya, but a more profitable gig has transpired. Time to make those talented hands of yers do some real work.”
“No…” Mari backed away as the Collector closed in. She knew exactly what he was talking about, and she didn’t want a bar of it. “I wouldn’t be a good pick for that sort of thing. Give me a week, K. I’ll steal so much swag you won’t know what to do with it.”
“Nah.” The Collector became serious, and Mari couldn’t read him, because his eyes were hidden behind those impenetrable holo-lenses. Come to think of
it, she’d never seen his eyes. “Nothin’ personal, Blue, but yer value in the world has just gone up into the stratosphere. See, someone took a shine to ya last night, and he’s willin’ ta pay more than what a lifetime of yer stealin’s ever gonna be worth. It’s just business. Now, are ya gonna come peacefully, or am I gonna have ta get forceful on ya?”
Mari’s dread turned to despair. “Someone wants to buy me?”
“Certain gentleman with pockets deeper than the infinite Universe. Got a thing for the Eurasian girls, and with ya being a virgin to boot… Yer a rare commodity in these parts, girl. See, Blue, the problem is that when a woman like ya sets out to attract men, ya attract men. Sooner or later, one’s gonna bite.”
Mari grabbed her night-robe from its hook and put it on, wrapping it tightly around her body. “This is a bad idea, K. You see, your gentleman’s going to be pretty disappointed when he realizes that I’m just not cut out for that kind of work. You wouldn’t want to have an unhappy customer now, would you?”
“Don’t worry about a thing, Blue.” The Collector’s smile was mirthless, and it terrified her. “They got in-house trainin’. Ya’ll be well taken care of. In terms of livin’ standards, yer about to take a real step up.”
“And that’s meant to make me feel better about being sold?” Sold as a fucking sex slave? Mari couldn’t bring herself to say the words, to acknowledge the reality. Deep down, a small part of had always feared this day might come, because anyone from the Dust Alleys who was young and in decent health could be spirited away by the Syndicate and sold to the highest bidder.
She thought she’d done enough to keep her job as a thief.
Obviously not.
“Yea, it was a surprise to me too, Blue. Yer a top stealer and a solid asset on tha street, but this client’s offered crazy money. An offer I just can’t refuse…” He shrugged, as if to say: sorry.
That was probably the closest a Darkside gangster like K would ever get to being remorseful.
Unable to run, unable to protest, and unable to fight, Mari stared past the Collector, trying to think of a way out of this. But nothing came. Her mind was paralyzed with shock.
“Who’s the client?” she asked quietly, an unpleasant sensation crawling across her skin as she imagined the possibilities.
“I ain’t at liberty to say. Ya’ll find out in good time.” The Collector reached into his jacket and retrieved a long metal rod—a shock-rod. “Now, Maribel, are we gonna do this tha easy way, or tha hard way? Ya gotta stop wastin’ my time, bitch. I got things to do.”
Mari took a deep breath and closed her eyes. In her mind’s eye, she yearned for a silver-skinned stranger with scary-but-kind eyes, who seemed to live and breathe violence, yet had treated her with the gentlest of touches.
But that was just fantasy.
This was reality.
On bare feet, Mari followed the Collector as he turned and started to climb down the drop-ladder.
At least Arturo escaped.
It was a bittersweet consolation prize. The Syndicate didn’t know her little brother. She’d protected him fiercely for so many years, and maybe—just maybe—he had a shot at getting out of this place for good.
But Arturo was also stubborn. I’m gonna go and find that boss alien…
Could he even find the guy? Artoo was smart, but he was just a skinny twelve-year-old brat from the Dust Alleys.
Mari wasn’t counting on a miracle. She couldn’t just sit back and vainly hope for some unlikely hero to come and rescue her. Those sorts of things didn’t happen in real life.
The Syndicate saw all, heard all, knew all, owned all.
She might escape eventually, but there was always a price to pay, and Mari had always feared she’d end up paying with her body.
Shit.
But what did she expect? After all, this was Darkside, where corruption and beauty stared back at one another through a dark, glittering mirror.
Chapter Thirteen
Humans talked too much.
That was the conclusion Iskar reached as he stared across the light-filled gallery.
Xalikian’s tall form could easily be spotted in the crowd. With his long platinum hair and black horns, the ex-prince drew plenty of attention from humans, particularly those of the female variety.
True to form, Xalikian coldly ignored the admiring looks as he chatted with Teluria’s mayor. That was as it should be. Xalikian was mated, and Sera Kazharan and the twins awaited him back on base. On Kythia, before the gender imbalance had occurred, a Kordolian male would only ever take a single mate.
This whole notion of sharing; it was so very un-Kordolian. In truth, they were a species that preferred to be consumed by their obsessions, whether they be power, riches, revenge, violence… or a most prized and treasured mate.
Iskar caught Torin’s gaze as the First Division warrior deftly plucked a glass of water from a service-bot’s tray. Torin stood beside Xalikian, appearing cool and deceptively relaxed as he shadowed the prince. Of course, Xal had spent many orbits running and hunting with the Aikun, and he could more than take care of himself, but this wasn’t Kythia and it wasn’t Silence, and both the General and Iskar had trust issues.
They didn’t trust humans or anyone outside the inner circle. They’d seen too much of the Universe.
So Akkadian had sent his Head of Security and a First Division warrior to the party. As usual, Torin had been the only one to actually volunteer for the job. Odd bastard that he is. Iskar couldn’t imagine any of the other elite warriors willingly attending this type of gathering. Several of them were absent anyway, having left Earth to carry out various missions in the central sectors.
A smile appeared on Torin’s face as he slowly sipped his drink. He tipped his head at Iskar in acknowledgement before his attention was diverted by a curvaceous red-haired female.
But no matter how preoccupied he was, Torin could turn deadly in a fraction of a siv if the situation called for it. That’s why Iskar could afford to momentarily become distracted by the voices that swirled around him.
“Hey, Izzy, check out the one standing over there by the door.”
“He’s the Head of Security, apparently. Doesn’t say much, but I saw him speaking with the Commissioner earlier. They talked for a while. Must have been something important.”
“Are the Kordolians deferring to the Enforcers, now? Or is it the other way around? Nah, it has to be the other way around. The Universe has gone crazy. Jeez, look at this guy. Ice wouldn’t melt in his mouth.”
“Lean and mean, huh. I’ll bet he’s a total savage in the bedroom.”
“There you go, Izzy, fantasizing about aliens again…”
“As if you wouldn’t get into his pants in a single hot minute, Vi. Oh, shit. He’s staring at us. Do you think he heard?”
“From all the way over there? No way…”
Iskar glared at the human females from across the gallery. Just to fuck with them, he put a finger to his lips.
Shh.
Caught by surprise, their eyes widened. They obviously had no idea that Kordolians had very good hearing. The women gasped, blushed, then turned away, suddenly showing great interest in the drinks being offered by an attending service-bot.
Were all the females on this hothouse of a planet so fucking salacious? Others might seek to take advantage of the situation, but Iskar was only interested in one woman.
In truth, he didn’t want to be here. He’d much rather be stalking the streets of Darkside, searching for her.
Blue hair, red lips, dark eyes. Stunning. He couldn’t get her image out of his head. She was everything he could want in a female. He remembered every little thing about her; the quiet fierceness in her expression, the way she confronted him despite her obvious fear, the way she protected the people around her.
Powerless, and yet brave.
As his headache intensified, as lust burned through his veins, as the buzz of conversation swirled around him, Iskar made his dec
ision.
As soon as this ridiculous event was finished, he was going back to Darkside.
“Uh, Sir?”
“What is it?” Iskar gave a sharp, almost imperceptible nod as his man Tyrak appeared beside him. Like Iskar, Tyrak wore understated military-formal attire. To the regular observer, they were dressed for the occasion, nothing more. Their suits were cleverly designed to minimize the characteristic weapons-bulges created by hidden firearms and knives. What the humans didn’t know was that Iskar and his men were armed to the teeth.
At some point, the General had used his considerable influence to exempt all Darkstar protection units from the tedious weapons checks these humans wanted to do at every single entry and exit point. The checks were pointless anyway; didn’t they know that even without guns and blades, a properly trained Kordolian still had his claws?
Tyrak stared across the light-filled gallery, studying the crowd. He spoke in Kordolian. “Just came by to report an odd… incident, Sir. I don’t know what to make of it.”
Iskar tensed. “Report, soldier.”
“I was standing watch in the reception gallery. Some dirty looking kid ran into the place. Ignored all the humans and headed straight for me. He asked for you by name, Sir. Said he’d recognized you on some public live-streaming holo-feed. I thought he was just a troublemaker, one of those Kordolian-haters. The human guards were about to kick him out, but he showed me this.” Shaking his head, Tyrak produced a familiar looking red coin. “A fucking krath. Can you believe it? Now where in Kaiin’s hells would a human brat get a thing like this? Then he pleaded with me to go and find you of all people. Wants us to go rescue his sister, apparently. Said you would know her. Does blue hair ring any bells?”
“What?” Heads turned as Iskar’s sharp voice cut through the buzz of the crowd. The tension in his body surged, sharpening into anger.
Anger burned away everything, including his excruciating migraine. His heart pounded like a war-drum, but everything else about him became deceptively quiet and still.