Despite it being a festival day, the place was thronged with people both buying and selling. Felice couldn’t believe the variety and quantity of stuff changing hands. She could tell that Bor Narga was a planet with wealth, because the goods for sale in this working-class area—probably third- or fourth-hand by now—were of high quality.
Felice watched languid Bor Nargans drink water, and swallowed, her throat parched. A few people had water systems strapped to their backs, small hoses in their mouths, so they could suck cool water whenever they wanted. She tried not to imagine the liquid sliding down her throat and wetting her desperately dry mouth. She’d been trained to stay strong for long periods, but there were limits, and she was sure she’d reached hers.
After a nerve-wracking long time, Felice saw her giant man called a Shareem—what the hell did that mean?—approaching. People moved out of the way for him, but not overtly. As he came striding through, they drifted to the sides of the streets as though pushed by the bow wave of a ship. But curiously, they didn’t stare at him, only turned and made for the stalls as if only interested in the wares.
Not interested at all in the big and bulking man in his skin-baring tunic, dark hair tamed into a tight queue, and his square, handsome face. The black chain glistened on his bicep, and his very blue eyes roved the crowd.
What set him apart from the well-covered men and women around him, notwithstanding the chain, the bare skin, the hair, and the eyes, was his size. He dwarfed everyone. He looked different, he moved differently, and everyone got out of his way. Even in Felice’s old life, during her training and after, she’d never met anyone as huge as this man. And yet, he was well at ease with himself.
Women turned to glance at him after he walked by, sizing him up and pretending not to. A few men did too, though they pretended not to even more.
When he reached Felice, he seized her by the arm and pulled her along with him, not stopping, not speaking. He was strong, and Felice had no choice but to hurry beside him, nearly dancing to keep her feet.
In any other circumstance, Felice might be terrified, might fight to get away from him, but this man, this Shareem, wasn’t a slaver. He didn’t have the look. Slavers had cold, dead eyes—didn’t matter what species; the eyes were always the same.
Not all slavers she’d seen mistreated the slaves they sold, and some even took care of them, but they didn’t view slaves as human—or whatever alien they happened to trade. Slaves were commodities. Some slavers talked to their slaves, befriended them, counseled them, but when it was time to sell, anything personal was over. Felice had seen that often enough in the past four years.
This man’s eyes took in a lot and gave back. He wasn’t looking upon Felice as a commodity, although he didn’t regard her with open-armed friendliness either.
He glanced behind them, probably looking for patrollers, before he pulled Felice into a narrow alley that had no covering. Heat blasted down on them, which she could feel even through the robes. How the hell did people live in this place? It was so hot, her breath burned in her lungs.
No canopy, however, meant that no one lingered here. The man pulled her through the empty alley and around yet another corner to a passage whose pavement was covered with slick sand. A rusting metal door was recessed into the wall halfway along, two stone steps leading up to it, a card slot waiting patiently beside it.
The man slid a card into the slot, and the door rolled open with groaning protest, as though it regularly stuck inside its channel. The man pushed Felice into the dim room beyond, then followed her after checking the street.
The door slammed with another grating screech, cutting off the heat.
The apartment Felice found herself in was warm and close, but the contrast to the blast furnace outside made it seem like paradise. Funny how paradise varied with climate, the back of her mind mused—those in the cold thought of sunny meadows; those who lived in heat dreamed of deep shade and cool water.
“Off,” the man said.
“What?” The robe muffled her response.
A large hand closed over the robes and ripped them away, leaving Felice standing in her torn and filthy tunic, exposed and vulnerable. She could fight him if she needed to—she knew that—but she was so exhausted she hoped she wouldn’t have to.
The man looked her up and down. “What are you?” he demanded.
Felice folded her arms, the universal body language for stay away. “I should be asking you that. You dragged me here. What do you want?”
The man said nothing for a long time, pinning her with his blue gaze, which was starting to make her hot all over. Forget the temperature outside. It’s scalding in here.
“What do I want?” he repeated as though thinking hard about it. “Somewhere I can live where patrollers don’t follow me around. Friends to laugh with. A lady to do. A cold drink. What do you want?”
Felice stared back at him, trying to decipher the answer, which wasn’t an answer. She cleared her throat. “Tell you what. How about I throw out a question, and we each answer it. Then we go on to the next question.”
The man shrugged, which moved his muscles in a nice way. “All right.”
He obviously wasn’t going to say anything more, so Felice asked, “What’s your name?”
The man considered. “That’s a good question. Good place to start.”
“You answer first,” Felice said quickly.
His didn’t blink. “Kieran. You?”
“Felice.”
Damn. She hadn’t meant to blurt out her real name, but she somehow felt compelled to honesty around him.
Didn’t matter, because he didn’t react. No recognition of the name. That meant no bulletins had gone out about Felice Henderson being missing, no offers of reward for her return. Yet. When her absence was discovered, the crew chief would waste no time trying to get her back.
“Next question,” Kieran said. “I’m from Bor Narga. You?”
“Earth.”
Kieran’s expression turned amazed. “Seriously? Old Earth?”
“Yeah, well, I haven’t been there in a while—”
Kieran cut her off. “Shit, woman, why the hell did someone from Old Earth want to come to Bor Narga? This is like the back of the back of beyond. A rock with sand that crazy people built cities on.”
“I didn’t come on purpose,” Felice said, her voice scratchy. Hadn’t been her choice where to go for a long time, even before she’d sold herself to TGH Corp.
“Who would?” Kieran went on. “What are you doing here?”
Felice hugged herself more tightly. She was so tired. And thirsty. “Why do you live here? If it’s such an armpit?”
“Is that your next question? Answer: No choice.” His gaze softened. “You all right?”
“Is that your question?” Felice fought to keep standing while pretending she wasn’t weak.
Kieran steered her to a sofa that looked like nothing more than a slab of plastic. When Felice sat down, though, the sofa cushion rearranged itself to fit her buttocks, cradling her gently. It was surprisingly comfortable, which she’d appreciate if she weren’t so exhausted.
Kieran released her and held up his hand. “Stay there.”
He said it sternly, like he would to a dog, then turned and strode to a tiny alcove kitchen. As she’d observed at the dockyards, he could move fast and quietly despite his size—size that was all muscle, Felice could see from the body-hugging tunic.
Kieran returned with a container of water. No water vapor collected on the outside, which meant a) this climate was dry—no kidding; and b) the container was thermally protected.
Felice didn’t care—that was her mind noticing things. Her lips, tongue, roof of her mouth, and throat cried out for the liquid. As soon as Kieran put the container into her hands, she lifted it to her mouth and began to gulp. Water spilled down her chin and trickled under her work coverall.
“Careful.” Kieran was sitting next to her—right next to her—his hand stea
dying the cup. “You’ll bring it all up again. A slow drink. Then another.”
Felice dragged in a breath and tried to take a calm sip. Her parched body, though, wanted to suck it down.
“You don’t have a breath mask,” Kieran said.
“What?” Felice spilled more water, and Kieran caught the slipping cup.
“You don’t have a breath mask,” he repeated. “Every off-worlder is assigned a breath mask when they come off their ship. For the sandstorms.”
“Oh. Right.”
“So where’s yours?”
Kieran was watching her. His gaze spoke of suspicion, but also interest. Felice sensed behind that a great hesitation in him, as though he held something back from her—from everyone—and always would.
Felice shrugged. “I don’t have one. Must have missed the handout.”
“No you didn’t.” Kieran’s gaze pinned her, and the way he leaned into her meant she’d never get around him to run. She’d been good, sure, but that had been back when she’d been fit, well fed, and rested. “It’s the law,” Kieran said. “You wouldn’t have been allowed off the ship without it. You a stowaway?” He tipped the cup to help her drink again, ending up with his hand at the back of her neck. “To Bor Narga? You must be insane. That’s the only explanation.”
Felice pushed the water away and licked her lips, reflecting that it felt good to have them wet again. “Not the only explanation.” She drew a breath, deciding to tell him.
A huge risk, but Felice also knew she wasn’t wrong that Kieran didn’t trade people. His eyes had told her. There were those who approved of slavery, those who were indifferent about it, and those who abhorred it. She wasn’t sure which Kieran would turn out to be, but she knew he wasn’t in the first category.
“I’m a slave,” she said in a rush. “Indentured servant as they sometimes like to call it. But I’ll never work off my indenture, so it’s the same thing.”
Kieran’s brows lowered, his gaze narrowing to a keen, soul-baring stare. Just when Felice decided she’d been wrong, and that he would turn her in, Kieran gave a savage laugh.
“Yeah?” He held out his hand for an old-fashioned handshake. “Well, so am I. Nice to meet you, Felice. What kind of slave are you?”
*** *** ***
Kieran gulped down his own glass of water, hearing the sterilizer shower humming in the bathroom. He’d sent Felice in there after she’d finished getting hydrated, so she could clean the filth from her body. She was taking a long time—he’d even had opportunity to run an errand—but then, she’d been seriously dirty.
She hadn’t answered his question about what kind of a slave she was, except in a vague way. Apparently she’d been sold to TGH Corp pay a debt of some kind—TGH Corp was Trans-Galactic Hauling. They sent cargo ships of all sizes absolutely everywhere, delivering everything anyone could think of. They even made it to Old Earth, which explained how Felice had ended up so far from home.
Today, while a large part of the ship’s crew took shore leave for the Crystal Mountains festival, Felice had taken her chance and left the ship, which was where Kieran had found her.
Kieran usually liked the festival, but he’d missed most of it this year, on account of running errands for Rees. Most Bor Nargans didn’t believe in the Crystal Mountain gods anymore, but any excuse to eat, drink, and play with singing spheres wasn’t dismissed. Kieran’s friend Rylan, another Shareem, had come to the capital to display the singing spheres he made, and sell a few through dealers. That was the excuse Rees had come up with for Rylan leaving his mountain hideaway.
Kieran might not have the lightning-fast thought process that Rees did, but he was Shareem enough to read women. And this woman was holding something back, something she didn’t want to tell him, not even when Kieran had proclaimed that he was a slave too.
Not really a slave, Kieran had amended. But not a free person either, a statement that had puzzled Felice, but she’d been too tired to ask him. Later she’d demand a full explanation. He’d seen that in her eyes as he’d sent her into the bathroom.
Kieran needed to report to Rees about what he’d discovered in the dockyards, but for some reason, he didn’t want to tell him about Felice. Not yet.
Rees would expect Kieran to turn the young woman over to him, or at the very least, send her on her way, so the Shareem could continue their plans. Felice couldn’t know about anything they were doing. One hint that the Shareem were conspiring would bring termination to them all.
Hell, Shareem thinking about taking a walk together could bring termination. Patrollers were that nitpicky.
The shower went off. The bathroom door opened, then slammed shut the next instant.
Kieran set down his water glass and walked to the closed door. “You all right in there?”
“What happened to my clothes?” Felice’s voice was muffled by the thick metal.
“I put them in the incinerator,” Kieran said. “They were disgusting.”
A brief silence. “Hand me the robes then.”
She meant the sun-blocking robes she’d lifted from a man on the street. “Can’t. I gave them back.”
Her startled noise was almost a squeak. “You what?”
Kieran leaned on the door to speak through it. “While you were in the shower, I gave them back to the man you snagged them from. He’ll need them.” Kieran had passed him on the way to meet up with Felice—everyone knew the man from Solaris V who couldn’t afford to leave Bor Narga because he spent all his money on ale. He’d complained of a walking pile of dirt who’d stolen his robes while he’d dozed.
“Yeah?” Felice said. “What about me?”
“What about you?”
“Kieran, I don’t have any clothes.”
Her words were exasperated, her tone worried. Kieran only heard the way she said his name, her voice shaping the syllables.
“We’ll find something for you,” he said.
Silence fell while Kieran waited outside the door, and Felice waited inside. After a while Felice asked, “Find something when?”
“I don’t know. When do you want them?”
“Now would be nice.”
“Why?”
The door thumped softly, as though something had struck it. “Because I can’t come out until I have something to wear.”
“Yes, you can.”
“Kieran . . .”
Kieran didn’t much care what she was talking about as long as she kept talking. He liked her voice. “There’s no one here but me, Felice. You’re safe. No one to see you. We’ll find you something before we have to go out again.”
“No one to see me,” Felice repeated. “Except you.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
She hesitated again, as though trying to come up with a good answer. “Do I have to explain it to you?”
“Yes. You do.” Kieran leaned his forehead on the door, somehow knowing she was doing the same thing on the other side. “I’m Shareem, Felice. You don’t have to hide from me.”
“Or I can stay in here until you bring me clothes. And another drink of water.”
Kieran grinned at the door. “If you want the water, you have to come out and get it. There’s nothing in the bathroom but sterilizers.”
The noise within sounded like a low scream. “All right then. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m coming out.”
The door slammed back into the wall, and Felice charged out, straight into Kieran.
Chapter Three
Felice rammed into Kieran’s tall body, and Kieran’s arms came around her, steadying her. She ended up against him, her nose in the linen of his tunic.
“See?” he said, his voice going low. “Not so bad.”
Easy for him to say. He was gorgeous. Every part of Kieran was exactly right—as large as he was, the proportions of his body were precise. He was warm too, hotter than any human had a right to be, but he was comfortable with himself in his thin tunic, nothing wrong there.
The c
hain on his biceps glinted as Kieran ran his hand down Felice’s bare back. “Not so bad at all,” he said.
She should jerk away, command him not to touch her, scream in terror. She’d been through too much to be able to fight him off right now. But Kieran’s touch was soothing, demanding nothing.
“Do you want sex?” he asked in a voice that should have any woman rushing for the nearest bed.
Felice sucked in a breath. “What?”
“I don’t have a lot to offer you,” he said. “I like you, but I don’t have much to give. A cup of water, a place to stay, and sex. I can give you pleasure, as deep as you want, as much as you want.”
As much as you want . . .
Holy crap, how did he know how to say things like that? As though Kieran understood exactly what Felice needed, and promised she’d get it.
“No,” Felice said, but it was tough to spit out the word. “Thanks.”
“Why not?”
Felice pulled back enough to stare up at him. He didn’t look hopeful, or offended at the rejection, he’d simply offered, the same as he’d offered the water.
“I just met you,” Felice said. She tried to smile. “Give us a chance to get to know each other, all right?”
Kieran looked puzzled. “That’s a requirement on Old Earth?”
“Not always.” Felice had to be truthful. “It’s a requirement for me, I guess.”
“All right.” He shrugged. “Let me know when we’ve gotten to know each other enough.”
Felice didn’t try to back away from him. She was naked, but the fabric of his tunic against her skin gave her the illusion that she was clothed—protected from the world. A strange feeling, but a nice one.
“Are you saying you’re ready for sex anytime?” she asked, inhaling the clean scent of him.
“I’m Shareem.” He said the phrase as though that should be explanation enough. “Sit down. I’ll bring you more water.”
Kieran (Tales of the Shareem) Page 2