No physical surveillance lived in this space, nor would it, Revik knew.
Even here, in Menlim’s new world, public impressions still mattered.
For now.
Compared to the glimpses Revik had gotten of the city so far, the slave market was old, primitive, and dirty as hell. Even the outside of the building reminded him of something from centuries past. It made a stark contrast to the moving sidewalks, solar-powered streets, semi-organic trolleys, false skies with their misting sprays to keep out the worst of the desert heat, and countless holographic images wrapped around skyscrapers.
On the way here, Revik counted seven shopping malls from the train, each of which appeared to take up several blocks. Those malls had hotels between them and business parks. Every segment connected with outdoor gardens, swimming pools and sculpture gardens, in addition to rows of high-end, free-standing kiosks and high-speed transport.
Down here, the floor was a cement slab.
It wasn’t dirt, but a half-step up from dirt.
Overall, the feeling the space evoked was the same as what Revik remembered from other slave markets he’d visited over the years, most of which had been during the previous century. He’d come across similarly-styled markets in Vietnam and other parts of Southeast Asia during the war, when he’d worked for the Rooks in the 1960s and 1970s.
They all sold essentially the same merchandise.
Mid-ranked, adult male seers tended to be the most common of those commodities.
Revik felt another ripple of nerves from the dark-skinned Stanley, right before he glanced at Revik with a small frown.
“I don’t think she’s here,” he said, reluctant.
“Where else could she be?” Chinja glanced at Revik as well, but managed to be more subtle about it. “Are there other markets? Other places they might take her for such a sale? Do they stagger the sales, or sequester some of the merchandise in clean up or skill assessment before offering them in open market?”
They were good questions.
Revik continued to struggle with his light as he listened for the answers.
Apparently Surli and Stanley thought they were good questions, too, given the way they looked at one another.
Stanley said, “There is only one market we’re aware of––this one. This is the biggest sale of the month, which is why we chose it for your landing, being the third Saturday. As to clean up and skill assessment…” He glanced at Surli, frowning. “It is possible, yes. Especially if they wanted her for…” Stanley hesitated, glancing at Revik. “…Commercial use,” he finished lamely. “Versus an individual owner.”
Surli gave Revik an openly contemptuous look.
Revik ignored him, directing his words at Stanley alone.
“Could they have a second market?” he said. “Non-public. For preferred buyers.”
The intermediary frowned as he thought. “I don’t know.” He met Revik’s gaze, mouth set in a harder line, before he looked back at Surli and the others.
“Should we risk him trying to find her?” he said, clearly meaning Revik. “It would be the fastest.”
“And the riskiest,” Surli retorted. “If they tag him, it wouldn’t take much for them to figure out who she is… and that she’s here.”
Even so, he obviously was thinking about the idea.
So was Revik.
After a few more seconds, Surli clicked under his breath, glancing around as if making sure they weren’t being overheard, although they’d posted Declan as guard for that very purpose. They stood far enough from the nearest row of occupied seats it was unlikely even without Declan, especially since most of them were speaking Russian, which didn’t seem to be a well-known language here.
Surli’s frown deepened as he looked back at Revik.
“I say no,” he said, blunt. “He’s hanging on by a thread. Do any of you seriously trust him to get anywhere near that construct right now?”
“No,” Hondo said at once. She glanced apologetically at Revik. “Sorry, boss.”
Clicking under her breath, Chinja shook her head, also looking at Revik.
“It is a bad idea,” she agreed. Unlike Surli, her voice was reluctant. “I am sorry, too, boss. Even if we shielded you, I do not think––”
“We have to do something.” Surli glared at Revik openly. “We were supposed to find the contact here… with her to help us.” His voice turned sarcastic. “I wish I’d known her husband was going to hand her off to a fucking trader before they even left the docks. It might have given us time to come up with an alternate plan, before––”
“He did not do it,” Dalejem cut in. His voice was final, and cold. “I did.”
There was a silence while the others all looked at Dalejem.
Then Surli scowled, glancing back at the stage.
“Whatever,” he muttered. “If it had been my wife, I would have broken both your arms… brother. Hell, I would have killed you before I let them take her.”
Dalejem’s voice remained cold. “Maybe her actual husband remembered she’s a better infiltrator than you––than any of you.” He glared around at all of them. “And that she is still more likely to get us access to this trader if she maintains her cover, even as merchandise. We just need to find her. No doubt she has learned more than we have already.”
Revik didn’t look at either of them.
“We need to move,” Stanley said, at least in part to end the argument. “You heard the auctioneer. This is the last of it. We need to look for her––now. Loki and his team will be here soon, and we will lose time in rendezvous. The gods only know how far someone could get with her by then. And we cannot assume her cover remains intact.”
“So where do we even begin to look?” Hondo looked at Stanley, then at Surli, speaking in a low whisper. “We should discuss that here––where there is no surveillance. Once we are outside, the eyes of this place will be looking at us once again, and those eyes are everywhere, brothers and sisters. Do we really think there could be a second auction?”
“Or a pre-sale,” Stanley said, glancing at Revik. “That strikes me as more likely. The buyer, Dontan, is not here. It is possible they met with him and those like him earlier. A private showing of new, high-end acquisitions. I did not see any seers sold here with sight ranks in actual over a five or six. Such preferred buyer pre-sales used to be common in underground markets in South America and Europe. Unusual coloring. Sight rank…”
Stanley made a vague motion with one hand.
“…Special skill sets of whatever kinds,” he mumbled, tilting his head.
Revik’s jaw hardened more.
He looked back out over the auction floor, fighting to think. He knew what they were talking about with his light. The last thing he wanted was to paint a massive target on his wife’s chest, when the Dreng picked up Revik’s scent in the construct right after he’d gone looking for her. All he’d be doing is locating his wife for Menlim’s people to find.
Assuming her cover wasn’t blown, Allie would find a way to get word to them.
She would figure it out, eventually.
Revik struggled to make the thought real in his head, pushing away the far more paranoid scenarios that involved her being gang-raped by a bunch of sick fucks in a high-rise hotel. More than that, he tried to decide if he had any real alternatives.
Alternatives that wouldn’t get her, him and Lily killed.
Revik looked back towards the stage.
Scanning faces, he paused on a man emerging from a dark doorway to the right of the stage. The man came to a stop just below the stage, still mostly in shadow, but his face falling within the glow of the harsh spotlights. At that distance, Revik couldn’t be absolutely certain it was him, not without using his sight, but it definitely looked like him.
Enough that it was worth getting closer.
“Come with me,” he said, looking at Dalejem. “Now. The rest of you stay here.”
Without waiting, he began to walk, aim
ing his feet for the front of the auction hall.
Dalejem followed, his light still sliding around Revik’s in occasionally distracting waves, but operating as an infiltrator’s again, which was all Revik really cared about.
Their window was closing. He could feel it.
He grew conscious of the gun he wore inside his shirt, tucked into a side holster that melded against his flesh. Luckily, that hadn’t been picked up in security scans––no one but the military and private security teams were allowed to carry firearms in Dubai. Vik and his team designed both guns and holsters to pass weapons’ scans unnoticed. They were full organics, and threw off a cloak that blended with the wearer’s bio-matter.
So far, that cloak had worked.
It took him a few minutes to get to the front of the room, even with the wide aisles between seats. By then, most of the bidding centered on a dark-haired male seer, maybe halfway through his second century, who looked like he might have come from Europe, from his expensive haircut, his weight and the tattoo on the side of his neck. He could be from anywhere though, really. He was stark naked, which didn’t help with identification.
This one looked like he’d never been a slave before, though.
He looked lost, eyes haunted, like his whole reality had been crushed recently––as it likely had. He’d probably been passing. He had the kind of coloring and facial features where he could have pulled it off pretty easily in the West, if he could keep himself in expensive and highly illegal colored contact lenses and high-grade blood patches.
And yeah, if he could afford to pay infiltrators who would keep his secret for him.
From his weight and the lack of clan tats on his body, he probably had that kind of cash. A fair number of young seers managed to pull that off before C2-77. Most were ambitious. Most used their sight conservatively, mainly in professions at the fringes of the stock market.
The stock market itself had been heavily regulated against tampering by seers, of course, and had its own army of seers whose job it was to prevent (or minimize, realistically) insider trading and high-stakes corporate espionage using seers. Plenty of the big players had their own cadre of seers, though, so there was a lot of bullshit that went on, as well as a sort of ongoing psychic battle between seers working for the various sides.
This guy didn’t have the rank to be a player at that level, however.
He probably advised suburban housewives on how they should invest their mutual funds, or maybe worked as a tax accountant for a mid-sized corporation.
Revik noted all that, even as he felt a flush of sympathy for his brother, as the seers and humans in the audience bid for him.
His mind didn’t dwell on that for long, however.
The only way they’d free seers like this was to take down Shadow.
For that, he needed his wife.
He aimed his feet towards the same the corner of the stage where he’d seen the seer from the docks. The male still wore a pristine white robe, an organic earpiece wrapping the lower part of his skull below a black headband.
Revik walked right up to him. He saw security about to intervene, and held up a hand in a peace gesture, right as the trader looked over at him.
The dark blue eyes with their moon-white flecks shifted from Revik to Dalejem, right before his eyebrows lifted in surprise.
“Brothers!” he said, holding out his hands. “What is it you are doing here?”
Revik made a respectful gesture with one hand, bowing slightly, both to the man in the white robe and to his guard.
The bow wasn’t subservient. It was polite––a preliminary establishment of hierarchy, with himself firmly on the dominant end.
The trader’s security goon glared at him for the perceived slight, his hand on a holster as he looked to his boss in a silent question. The trader only waved him off, though. Revik saw a harder assessment forming in those dark blue eyes as they looked Revik over, maybe for the first time.
“What are you doing here, my friend?” he said, smiling in overdone friendliness.
At another time, Revik might have seen his tone as yet more posturing, but looking at the white-robed seer, he saw growing understanding in his dark eyes.
“…You are not really dock workers, are you?” the trader said, his voice coy.
“No,” Revik said. “We are not.”
“What were you doing on that dock then, brother?”
“We were there to look at the shipment,” Revik said. “And to find a rumored Lao Hu consort for my employer… among other possibilities.”
There was a silence as the sheik trader thought about his words.
“Your employer?” The man in the white robe lifted an eyebrow. “Do you mind elaborating on who that might be, my good brother…?”
He looked at Dalejem in the pause, his eyes showing a faint question. Within the next set of seconds, however, he seemed to realize he had miscalculated on the dock, that Revik was the one in charge here.
Revik briefly let him see more of his aleimic structure, just to reinforce that point.
“I apologize we were not more forthcoming on the docks,” Revik continued, once he knew the other had seen enough of him to take him seriously. “My employer has considerable resources at his disposal, and it is common for his new business partners to attempt to take advantage of him as a result. He trusts me––and of course, brother Marsei here––to make certain that doesn’t happen. He most of all desires to have an accurate understanding of his purchases before he takes possession of them.”
“And your name is?” the sheik pressed.
“You may call me Calyn.”
The male’s eyes turned shrewd. He scanned Revik’s aleimi a second time, more deliberately but still a bare touch. Revik saw a quick, more calculating assessment go through those dark eyes, right before he smiled more genuinely at Revik.
“Of course, my brothers, of course. I realize the delicacy of these things.” He held up a hand in a respectful gesture. “Does your employer normally work through another trader?” he asked politely. “Or am I merely to be chastised for my lack of observation? For I confess, I do not recognize either of you from these markets.”
“Yes,” Revik said simply, making it clear with his light he had no intention of offering more information than necessary. “He normally works with another. Is that a problem?”
“Not at all, not at all,” the man assured him, holding up the same hand in another sign of peace. “You simply have me quite consumed with curiosity now, I confess––”
“Did you dispose of the real merchandise before we got here?” Revik cut in, his voice holding an edge. He threaded an air of impatience, even condescension, through his light, sending the message he was used to people reacting to him, and his employer’s name.
“My employer will be most displeased, if that is the case,” he said. “He wished in particular for us to buy this Lao Hu consort for him. He was quite intrigued with the Barrier imprints we supplied him, as well as the specific flavor of her light. He expressed this sentiment quite openly, something he does not always do. He also wished to purchase several other… items.”
Revik bit down deliberately on the word, as if finding it distasteful.
“…Offerings from your stock. Things that do not appear to be here any longer, either. Nor are there replacement items of a high enough quality for what my employer requires.”
Revik saw a flicker of denser interest in those dark eyes.
“Do you have higher quality merchandise, or not?” Revik said.
The man’s smile grew more obsequious. “He is aware, surely, that the prices for these items have gone up?” the man said politely. “In these trying times of scarcity, we all must––”
“He is very aware of that, brother,” Revik cut in. “Price is not… his primary concern.”
The male seer broke out in a much more genuine-seeming smile.
“Of course, of course. And I apologize for asking,” the seer sheik s
aid, his voice sickly sweet. “It is just strange to me, that this employer of yours is so well informed in some respects, yet was not aware of the pre-sale for our more… unusual items.”
“He was not,” Revik confirmed. “…Informed of this. He has only recently relocated to Dubai, after many years of living in New York. This is my fault, I confess, for not doing better research before coming to my first sale in this part of the world.” Revik grimaced delicately, as if trying to keep it off his face. “They did such things… differently… in New York.”
He found himself hoping this asshole didn’t know anything about the markets in New York, because Revik certainly didn’t.
Understanding flooded the seer’s light at Revik’s words, however.
Along with that, some of his surface wariness dissipated.
“Ah! Well, that explains it, of course,” the seer smiled. “I had wondered.” He clicked under his breath, an overdone affect of sympathy. “It is a terrible tragedy, what happened to that once great city. So deeply horrible––”
“It is an epic poem,” Revik said, his voice short in Arabic. “Brother, are the items in question still available? For I must answer to someone other than you, and he will not be happy that I missed this pre-sale on his behalf, if it means he has lost his chance at merchandise he so desired. Telling him you sympathize about the loss of his previous home in New York will not appease him, I’m afraid… although I’m sure he appreciates the sentiment.”
“The female is gone,” the sheik said at once, smiling in apology. “Regrettable, but as you said, she was quite alluring. She was the very first item sold.”
“Who?” Revik said. “Who bought her?”
“You wish to buy her from him?” the sheik said, his eyebrows lifting.
“I feel quite certain my employer will wish to make him an offer, yes. One he will doubtless want to consider.”
The sheik’s smile widened. A glint came to his dark eyes.
Revik could almost taste the greed he saw reflected there.
Prophet: Bridge & Sword Page 54