by John Bowers
"Will she? Ever?"
"The hypno-security can be reversed, but usually it is the option of the buyer. If he wants to take the responsibility for her emotional response, we release the lock. Usually we simply change it to whatever level of security the owner prefers. Most men don't want a woman to be a zombie, so the lock is relaxed and set at a lower level."
"How much will this woman sell for?" Scarlett asked.
Junior shrugged. "Without readin' her datachip, I would estimate between twenty-five and thirty thousand sirios. She's an average slave, and that is the median price."
"How wide is the price range?"
"The absolute lowest price we charge is eleven thousand, and there's very little profit at that price, because our overhead is quite substantial. For special orders, we charge an additional ten thousand right up front, plus the expense of locating exactly what the customer wants. When a special order is lookin' for a young slave, say fourteen or fifteen, the price climbs right out of sight”
Next he took them through the sales area. This was something like an auction barn, except for the obvious taste in architecture and décor. Once again the floor was wide and spacious, this one made of marble, with a wet bar along the far wall and seating arrangements that resembled a nightclub. Women were displayed on a raised dais singly or in lots, Junior told them, and bids were placed. Only brokers attended these sales, and the bulk of the women were sold there.
"Junior, earlier you talked about the slave owners themselves. Yet you say only brokers attend these auctions."
"That's right. About ninety percent of the slaves are sold here, to brokers. They, in turn, promote and sell the women in their own arenas. But we also have direct sales, in the elite line. We have a preferred clientele that purchases slaves from us direct. We offer them online catalogs of our very finest deliveries, and we also take special orders."
"Who are these customers?"
"Some of the wealthiest men on Sirius. Businessmen, politicians, ministers of the gospel … "
They had reached the end of the tour, and Davenport interrupted.
"Mr. Taylor," he said, "why does Wallace Shipping go to these lengths?"
"Excuse me?" Junior looked puzzled.
"When you ship produce to Vega, do you actually display the product in the marketplace? Or do you sell it to brokers who remove it from the spaceport and ship it to their own warehouses?"
"We sell to the brokers, of course. They take full responsibility for the product once it reaches their planet."
"All right, then why is Wallace Shipping warehousing these slaves? Why do you spend money on the cosmetics? Seems like that should be the brokers' expense. And why are you involved in direct sales? A shipping company usually ships goods, and that's all."
Junior shook his head, smiling.
"Oh, this is not Wallace Shippin'!" he explained. "I showed you that operation before dinner. This is an entirely different company."
Scarlett's eyes grew wide.
"What company is this, then?" she demanded.
"This is Wallace Slaves."
Regina Wells was quiet as they returned to their luxury suite. She smiled and thanked Junior when they arrived, and once again promised him immunity in case Boyd took any action against him. She allowed Davenport to escort her down into the suite, then went straight to her room. She looked pale and felt queasy. She quickly undressed and poured herself a small glass of Lightning. It set her blood on fire, but did nothing for the sickness in her soul.
After several minutes of staring at the wall, she went into the bathroom and threw up.
Davenport was sitting on her bed when she came out. She glared at him irritably.
"I'm not exactly dressed!" she snapped.
"Relax," he said. "I'm no threat to you."
"How do I know that?"
"If you're upset over your daddy's slave business, don't take it out on me, okay?"
"Why not? You're SE!"
"Yeah, right. Pour yourself a drink."
"I already had one."
"Have another. You look like you need it."
Scowling, she did as he said, sipped it, then glared at him as if everything were his fault.
"Have you ever seen anything like that?" she asked.
"Yep. I've seen a lot worse."
"What could be worse?"
He stood up and paced across the room.
"I was sixteen the first time. It was some kind of holiday, I forget which one. One of the big slave giants held an open house for the public. Nothing but Vegan women. I'd seen a few Vegans, but not very many. Only rich people owned them back then."
He stared at the wall, his eyes glazing slightly.
"I’d never seen anything like it. There must have been thirty thousand women there, all decked out like Queen Ursula herself. Six acres of blonde hair, shining in the sun. Redheads, brunettes, Vegan serfs … god! I think I fell in love with all of them that day!"
Regina's eyes had narrowed with anger.
"Did you buy any?"
"Hell, no! We were just working class. Couldn't afford anything that exotic."
"But you have owned slaves?"
He frowned at her, catching the tone of her voice.
"Yeah," he admitted. "I told you, if I was going to make it in the SE, I had to act the part. I bought one myself when I was nineteen. Took me four years to pay her off."
"Where is she now?"
"I dunno. I sold her when the war started."
Regina marched over to the bed, pushed him off, and began arranging it for sleep, anger evident in every movement.
"I swear, you're as bad as they are!" she muttered.
He grabbed her arm and swung her around, pulling her up against him. From two inches away, her eyes were green lasers of fury. His own were hard as arctic ice.
"Maybe I am," he told her in a low voice, "but what about you? You own a fucking slave company!"
"Not for long, I won't!" she spat. "I'm selling it, just as soon as I see Boyd!"
"I don't think that would be very smart."
"Why not?"
"You might just as well unfurl the Federation flag and wave it from the rooftop! It would be just fine for you to express concern and horror at what you've seen today. Boyd will expect that — that's why he gave Junior orders to keep you away from there. But after you've shed a few tears, you leave it all to Boyd, and he'll keep on making money for you."
She broke free of his grip and took a step back.
"I think you're forgetting our mission here!" she said. "We're supposed to be opposed to this kind of society!"
"That's right, and we'll put an end to this sort of thing. But not until our armies get here. You and I are here only to provide data so that can happen. Don't get ahead of the program."
"Oh, that's easy for you to say! As long as the current civilization continues, you can rape the occasional serf girl, can't you!"
He grabbed her again, kissing her hard. She jerked free and slapped him.
"You better watch yourself, Captain! You promised General Vaughn you wouldn't try to fuck his wife!"
"And I won't. But I didn’t promise him anything about Regina Wells."
She glared at him, groping for a response. When she failed to find one, he pushed her toward the bed and forced her onto her back.
"If you don't want me to do this," he told her in a quieter voice, "say so now. Otherwise, I don't want to hear you crying about it later."
Still panting in anger, she continued to glare at him, but didn't answer. He gave her twenty seconds, then nodded decisively.
"That's what I thought."
He reached for his belt buckle.
Sunday, 11 April, 0230 (PCC) - Alpha 2, Alpha Centauri System
Rico Martinez found the 3rd Star Marine Division camped in a river bottom on the edge of a vast plain. They were in the northern hemisphere, a hundred miles from the nearest Sirians. The area served as a rest camp after their assault on the mountainto
p, though it wasn't a liberty area. Delta Company was situated right next to a pink lady detachment.
Capt. Connor blinked with surprise when Rico stood before him and presented his documentation. After reading the medical report, he laid it on his makeshift desk and stared awkwardly at the young Marine.
"God damn, Martinez," he said quietly, "I thought we'd never see you again. You feeling okay?"
"Yes, sir, Captain. They fixed me up just fine. They got some new kind of therapy I never knew about before. It was just what I needed."
Connor nodded, and Rico had the odd feeling that the man was actually glad to see him.
"Well, you must be the luckiest fucking jarhead I ever did see," Connor said with a slight grin. "Maybe I was wrong about you."
"Sure hope so, sir. Still think I'm a jinx, Captain?"
Connor had the decency to turn slightly red. He just shook his head.
"After saving the Fighter Queen? I guess not." He pointed. "First Platoon is over that way. Check in with Lieutenant Bauer, and then go find your squad."
"Yes, sir!" Rico didn't salute, as it was forbidden in the field. But Connor shook his hand.
"Welcome home, Martinez."
Ten minutes later he walked into the squad area and caught the Fearless Fourless squatted around playing cards.
"Ten-hut!" he shouted, and they lurched quickly to their feet. When they saw Rico grinning at them, they broke into a storm of profanity.
"What the fuck is this?"
"The Beaner's back!"
"Jesus goddamn Christ, Martin-ez! Where the hell did you come from?"
They swarmed around him, pounding him on the back, demanding to know everything that had happened to him. Roberson and White joined in, and soon it devolved into Old Home Week, everyone squatting in a circle while Rico brought them up to date — or tried to, as he was frequently interrupted.
"You get any pussy?" Maniac had to know.
"Well —"
"Hey, Beaner, don't hold out on us, now! You fuck any nurses?"
"Nurses? Hell, no. But I got me a lady doctor."
"Bullshit!"
"How 'bout the Fighter Queen, man? You git her?"
"Shit, no. Nobody fucks with her, man! She's tougher than any Star Marine."
"So what?" Maniac insisted. "Who cares if she kills you, long as you git her first!"
When the manic stage had passed, Rico asked about the mountain assault he'd narrowly missed. It had turned into a four-day battle, but Delta had been pinned down at the outset and missed the worst of it. While they drew Vegan fire, other companies had managed to break through the outer defensive ring and work their way toward the interior. Delta had linked up afterward, but remained in the rear of the worst fighting. Even so, enough men had been lost to staff a full platoon, including Lt. Hackman, the company exec.
"We only lost one man in the squad," Roberson told him. "The Lord was certainly watching over us."
"Yeah," Texas said bitterly, "but the Lord didn't give much of a shit about the other squads, did he?"
Somewhere in the middle of the conversation, another man walked into the squad area. Rico's eyes grew wide with disbelief. Ignoring his squad mates, he stood up and stared. The other man stared back, equally incredulous.
"Oh, yeah," Texas said, "I forgot to tell you — we got another beaner now. Don't know what the war is coming to."
Rico swallowed, his heart pumping. The other man was grinning, his teeth white in his dark face, and stuck out his hand.
"Chavez?" Rico whispered. "Jesus Christ! Chavez!"
The two men threw their arms around each other, like long-lost lovers, and turned in a full circle. Rico was so filled with emotion that he felt like crying. The Fearless Fourless watched with something akin to awe.
"Correct me if I'm wrong," Texas said to no one in particular, "but do you get the feeling they've met somewhere before?"
"I never knew the Beaner was a homo," Maniac murmured.
"Where the fuck you been, Chavez!" Rico cried as he stood back and stared at his old friend. "I thought you was dead!"
"I thought you was, too! Nobody told me you made it out! I thought I was the only one!"
"What the hell are they talkin' about?" Gearloose demanded, looking worried.
"Beats the hell outta me. Maybe they got separated at the Alamo." But Texas was as curious as the rest. "Hey, Beaner — both you beaners — what the fuck is goin' on?"
Still laughing in disbelief, the two Spanic Star Marines settled down near the others, who all crowded in close.
"When did you get here?" Rico asked.
"Yesterday. And these dickheads been givin' me nothin' but shit ever since. Beaner this and beaner that."
"You gotta understand," Rico told him. "They're gringos. They don't know any better."
"Yeah, well I don't even know what 'beaner' means."
Rico turned to Texas.
"Look, you gotta find another name for him, okay? Beaner is my nickname, and I don't want you gettin' us confused."
Texas shrugged. "Okay. From now on he's Wetback. But you gotta fill us in. You two obviously know each other."
"Maybe they're cousins," Maniac suggested. "I heard once that all beaners are related."
"Fuck you, Maniac!" Rico laughed. "No, Chavez and me were together before any of you pricks got here. We were the original Delta Company, man."
"Whaddaya mean, 'original'?" Gearloose looked as if his world were about to fall apart. "You mean, there was another Delta?"
"No, same Delta, different Marines. You remember when I first met you guys, I told you I couldn't talk about my service record? That was because Captain Connor ordered me not to say anything. But you guys were all replacements, because the original Delta was wiped out at Titan. In fact, the entire 33rd was wiped out. Chavez and me were almost the only survivors."
Chavez looked shocked. "You mean there was more?"
Rico nodded. "I was told that six or seven men survived from the whole regiment. But I never knew who they were, or if anybody else was from Delta. Looks like you and me were the only ones."
The rest of the squad sat stunned down to their boots.
"Jesus fucking … "
"Holy shit!"
But Jeff White was grinning.
"I knew it, you little fucker! You wouldn't admit it, but I seen that Crimson Cross in your locker! I knew you'd been in battle!"
Rico nodded. "I couldn't tell you, Knee Grow. Until now." He looked back at Chavez. "So what happened to you?"
Chavez shrugged helplessly.
"I dunno, man. I was pissin' my pants when the whole fucking lander just blew up. I never saw or heard nothin' until a week later. I woke up in a hospital ship headed back to Terra. Both legs were gone, and I thought I was gonna die. When I found out about my legs, I hoped I would die. Nobody ever told me there was other survivors."
Tiny was staring at him in acute wonder.
"You lost both legs?"
Chavez nodded, and pulled up a pants leg to show them. The new limbs were several shades lighter than the rest of his body.
"Took them three months to clone new ones, and after I got them it took another six for me to get back in shape."
"Why didn't you get out?" Rico asked. "Nobody has to stay in after a dismemberment."
"Aw, shit, I dunno. Nothin' seemed to matter much any more, you know? I couldn't figure out what to do, so I just re-upped. I figured I hadn't had a chance to fight yet, so I put in for my old unit again. They fucked me around for a few months first, but I finally got here."
"You seen any action yet?"
"Not since Titan."
"Well, stick with us, Chavez. You'll get a chance at revenge. And these fuckers may not seem like it, but they're okay. Not as good as the old outfit, but okay."
"Hey fuck you, Beaner!"
"Shove it up your ass, man!"
Rico just laughed.
Chapter 41
Early June 0230 (PCC) - Washington City, D
C, North America, Terra
Dianne Love was still there. Wade Palmer had taken her to the BOQ after dinner that cold April night and granted her request pretty much as she had stated it. In fact, for the first time since going to work at the Polygon, he'd called in sick the next day, so fatigued he could hardly move.
In a way he felt guilty; he still had feelings for Regina Wells. But Regina had never offered him a serious hope of anything more than friendship, and for many months now he hadn't seen her; he had no idea where she was, or if she would ever return. So he quashed any guilt feelings and reminded himself that he was no longer in high school; in the real universe, he wasn't getting any younger.
Dianne Love, ex Space Force turret gunner, was a much different person than he'd first thought. Their meeting at Pearl Harbor had left him thinking she was cold and calculating, but she no longer seemed that way. Maybe it was her combat experience, but whatever the reason, she was now very human and vulnerable. For some reason she seemed to cling to him, though he didn't understand why.
Wade found himself liking her. He instinctively knew he'd never be in love with her, but for now that wasn't important. She was slender and attractive; under the covers she was passionate and exciting. For a man who'd never been with a woman, she was a glorious discovery. When she asked to stay on for a few days, he agreed. When she asked to stay indefinitely, he moved out of the BOQ into an apartment.
And discovered he no longer dreaded leaving the office at night.
"What do you do, exactly?" Dianne asked one night as they lay cuddling after a heated coupling.
"I work in planning."
"I know. But what do you do?"
"I plan things." He grinned into the darkness.
"Did you plan the Alpha 2 operation?"
"Can't answer that."
"Why?"
"You know why."
She was silent a moment, then kissed him on the cheek.
"Alpha could have been a disaster," she said. "But parking the carriers out of harm's way was brilliant. They'd have killed us otherwise."
He felt a glow of pride, but couldn't respond to the compliment.
"How many Sirians did you get?" he asked, diverting the subject.
"Twenty-seven. Five in my last battle."
"Not a bad day."