She purses her lips. “I’ve heard that a time or two.”
“I could use your help again,” I say.
She gives a firm shake of her head and bends over her table, busying herself straightening out her strings of beads with a deftness that defies the eye. “Show me the credits or move on.”
“I’ve got the credits,” I reassure her, leaning over the stall and lowering my voice. “I need to drug someone.”
She stops what she is doing and draws her brows tightly together. “If it’s body poaching you’re into now, that’s as illegal as trading dargonite.”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Then what do you need the drugs for?”
I shrug. “A couple of thugs on my ship who’re causing trouble. I want to contain them before we reach Cwelt.” I lean across the stall conspiratorially. “I don’t want them getting their hands on my dargonite before I have a chance to sell it to repay my debts.”
Her brows shoot upward and I can tell I’ve piqued her interest at the possibility of recovering what I owe her.
“Wait here,” she says, followed by a sigh.
She returns a few minutes later with a small vial of liquid the color of mud.
“How much?” I ask, staring at it.
“Three-hundred-and-fifty credits. You’ll need ten drops to knock a grown man out.”
“How long will the effects last?”
A look of mild irritation passes over her face. “How should I know? I don’t brew the stuff. Do you want it, or not?”
I stretch out my wrist for her to scan Buir’s CipherSync. She waits for the transaction to go through and then hands me the vial.
“I’ll expect to see my two thousand credits once you reach Cwelt,” she says.
“Of course.” I give an obliging nod. If I ever reach it.
I turn and dive back into the seething multitude of bodies perusing the market. Finding Roma took longer than I anticipated. I fear Velkan will be worried that something has gone wrong. I elbow my way through the crowd until we come to a sudden standstill. On the street corner in front of me, people are bunched up watching a cross-legged cyborg charming serpents out of gourds.
As I back up to try and bypass the crowd, a hand slides over my mouth, and a thick arm wraps around my waist, yanking me down an alleyway.
6
I try to scream, but my lips are squished against a meaty palm—big enough to be Crank’s, but far too doughy.
“Ssh!” a male voice whispers. “I’m not going to hurt you. My name’s Jourd. I’m taking my hand away now but, whatever you do, don’t scream.”
The second he releases me, I spin around poised to fight. My jaw drops as I study the ruddy contours of my captor’s face. It’s the stocky youth I sold Sarth’s compass to on my last visit here. My mind thrashes about for an explanation. I cast a glance down the alleyway at the crowd still engrossed in the cyborg’s roadshow out on the main street. “Is this about that dinner date I promised you?” I ask, eying Jourd with suspicion.
He gives a warm-bellied chuckle, holding up his huge hands in front of him by way of protest. “Of course not. You must think I’m really desperate abducting you off the street.”
I arch a brow, only marginally reassured. “Then you’d better explain yourself.”
A worried expression replaces his jovial demeanor. He lowers his voice, reminding me there are ears everywhere. “A man came by my stall a half hour ago. He’s looking for you, and he’s headed this way.”
My pulse quickens as my mind scrambles through the possibilities. Velkan? He’s bound to be worried about me by now. A shiver runs down my spine. Or Crank? He could have grown suspicious that it was taking us so long to find the parts. “What did this man look like?”
Jourd rubs his chin and frowns in concentration. “Tall, stringy hair to his shoulders. Cold eyes that pickaxed right through me. I didn’t like the look of him at all. He pulled out a lock of hair and stuck it in my face. I knew at once it was yours—I’ve never seen anyone else with hair that color.” Jourd shoots a nervous glance over my shoulder. “He’s offering a huge reward for any information about you.”
My heart cramps in my chest and I stagger back a step. “You didn’t … say anything, did you?”
Jourd taps a finger to his temple. “I’m not that dim-witted. I make a decent living wheeling and dealing ’cause I can read people. That man was out for blood.”
I give an appreciative nod. “Did he give you his name?”
“No, but I overheard him talking to another man who was with him. I think he called him Furack, or something like that.”
Furax!
The nape of my neck tingles with latent terror. It can’t be a coincidence. He’s already on our trail. It didn’t take him long to procure another ship after we blew his up on Razaran—short-sighted of us in retrospect. Body poachers come and go on Razaran all the time. Furax could have hired out any one of the other poachers’ ships to pursue us in. And now he’s even more motivated to get his hands on the dargonite so he can replace the ship we destroyed. It was smart of him to realize Sarth and Crank would be after us too. Find them, and the trail leads straight to us.
My legs wobble, and Jourd reaches out to steady me. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
I bite my lip. “He’s a body poacher. I … we escaped from him.”
Jourd lets out a long, low whistle, eying me curiously. “Never met anyone who escaped from a body poacher and lived to tell about it.” He scratches the thick folds on the back of his neck, weighing something over. “Do you need some place to hide?”
I shake my head. “Thanks, but our ship is docked here. I have to get back so we can leave before Furax finds us.”
Jourd nods, a look in his eyes that’s halfway between relief and regret. “I can show you a shortcut back to the dock if you like, it might be safer to stay off the main street.”
I almost refuse his offer, but my pounding heart makes me think better of it. If I do run into Furax, I’ll have a better chance of escaping his clutches if Jourd is there to help delay him.
We push our way through the bustling streets, aided by Jourd’s bulk and intimate knowledge of the side alleys. I question my judgement every step of the way until we make it safely back to the fueling station without as much as a sighting of Furax, or any of the other body poachers. Velkan waves emphatically to me from the security gate, and I acknowledge him briefly.
“Who’s that?” Jourd raises a questioning brow.
“He works on my ship,” I say, feeling a blush warm my cheeks.
Jourd’s eyes crinkle as he gives me a guileless smile. “Good. I’m glad someone on board is looking out for you. Best of luck, Trattora. Stay safe wherever your travels take you.”
“Thank you, Jourd.” I reach up to kiss his cheek. “I won’t forget your kindness.”
I feel his eyes on me as I make my way across to the street to Velkan, but when I turn around again, he’s gone.
“I thought you were going to meet Roma. Who was that?” Velkan asks, as we take our place in line at the security gate.
“His name’s Jourd. I sold Sarth’s compass to him the last time we were here. I’m pretty sure he paid me a lot more than it was worth. He even threw in a used CipherSync. I think he felt sorry for me.”
Velkan snorts. “Are you sure that’s all it is? He looked disappointed to see me waiting for you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I retort, displaying my reentry stamp for the guard on duty to scan. “He’s just a friendly vendor who helped me out.” I dart a glance around and lower my voice. “He told me Furax is here, looking for us. He’s offering a handsome reward for any information.”
Velkan’s eyes widen. “We need to leave at once. I don’t actually have to replace the fuel line. I only bought the parts to cover myself. We can be airborne in minutes.” He pulls me tighter to his side and quickens his pace, forcing me into a half-jog across the dock to keep up with his long
strides. My fingers curl around the vial of sedative in my pocket, making sure it doesn’t fly out. The sooner we get it into Crank and Sarth, the better. There are too many interested parties breathing down our necks now.
I’m panting by the time we reach the Zebulux, more from adrenalin than exertion. I grimace at the sight of Sarth waiting for us at the top of the ramp in the cargo bay, arms folded over her chest as tightly as the scowl stretched from one side of her face to the other. “Took you long enough.”
“Market’s hopping today,” Velkan says, brushing past her.
“Crank’s down in the engine room waiting. Make it snappy.”
Velkan nods and throws me a knowing look as I join Buir and Ghil by the crates.
“We’re hungry,” I say, fixing a hard gaze on Sarth while fingering the vial in my pocket. “You’re going to have to feed us if you intend to keep us alive long enough to mine the dargonite.”
She barks out a derisive laugh before heading across to the stairwell. “Soon as your lover boy gets this ship airborne, you’ll get your rations.” She pauses, as if she’s just remembered something, and then turns in Buir’s direction. “Maybe you can whip us up something like you made last time. Have Crank bring you up with him when he’s coming.”
“I’ll help her,” Ghil volunteers, taking a step forward.
Sarth waves a dismissive hand at him. “She does better in the galley without your help.” Her face darkens. “And the last thing I need is you mixing it up with the knives in the kitchen. Your own brother doesn’t trust you anymore.”
She keys the entry code to the upper deck into the pad on the wall and a moment later, the door clangs shut behind her.
“Furax was at the port looking for us,” I say in an urgent whisper. “Velkan’s going to get us airborne right away.”
“What are we going to do about Sarth and Crank?” Ghil asks.
“I bought a sedative at the market.” I press the vial into Buir’s hand. “Can you slip it into their food? Ten drops each will do it.”
She stares down at the vial for a moment and then looks up at me, a waxen pallor seeping over her face.
Before she can answer, Ghil steps in front of her and glares at me. “Do you have any idea what they’ll do to her if they catch her?”
Buir takes a steadying breath and lays a hand on his arm. “I can do this, Ghil. They won’t catch me.”
“Where will you hide the vial?” I ask.
A hint of a smile tugs at her lips as she raises her arms and carefully tucks the tiny vial inside the braided bun of silver hair piled on her head. “Even if they pat me down, they won’t think of looking in my hair.”
Ghil rubs a hand across his jaw. “I don’t like it. It’s too dangerous.”
We swivel at the sound of two sets of boots coming up the stairs from the engine room.
“We’re back in business,” Velkan announces brightly. “Didn’t even need to replace the fuel line. Turns out the onboard auto repair system on this advanced vessel took care of the problem for us.”
Buir fastens her gaze on Crank. “Sarth said I was to go upstairs with you and make dinner for everyone.”
Crank grunts and gestures to her to go up the stairs ahead of him.
My heart races as I watch them disappear through the door together.
Ghil looks frantic as he paces the floor of the cargo bay, kicking at canisters and crates. I wish I had some words to comfort him with, but anything I say would be a lie. The truth is, Buir is taking an enormous risk on our behalf, and if she’s caught, Sarth and Crank will be swift to execute judgement.
When Crank finally orders us up to the galley an hour later, we exchange relieved glances and waste no time climbing the stairs for our first trip to the upper level of the new ship.
It proves to be a considerable upgrade on the original Zebulux. As we step through the door, the recessed lighting in the hexagonal hallway stretching out before us casts subtle shadows on smooth gunmetal gray walls. No rust, or broken rivets, or doors hanging askew. Halfway down the gleaming corridor, Crank holds up a tattooed hand and brings us to a halt. He taps a code into a luminescent control panel on the wall and leads us into an opulent mess room with cocoa-colored leather seating wrapping around a smooth, oval dining table riveted to the floor.
The luxurious fittings are at odds with a pair of seedy characters like Crank and Sarth, but it’s a stark reminder that dargonite can buy almost anything on the dark market. The question that weighs on me is whether dargonite in criminals’ hands is any more dangerous than a dargonite trade controlled by a Syndicate eager to extend its reach. I’m coming to the conclusion that the only way to keep the Netherscape safe is to make sure Cwelt retains the rights to the mines.
Sarth emerges from the galley, her beady eyes surveying us with twisted pleasure. “Impressive, eh?” She preens, gesturing to us to take a seat. “Wait ’till you see the flight deck.”
We slide in along the leather banquette which squeaks beneath us. A tantalizing aroma fills my nostrils and my stomach growls in anticipation of whatever dish Buir is preparing. Sarth and Crank sink down on the seating opposite us.
“Smells awfully good,” I say. “What are we having?”
Crank tilts his head in my direction, angling the horns in his forehead like a bull about to charge. “Who said you were having anything?”
Sarth pours herself a drink from a pitcher in the center of the table. She glugs half of it down and burps unapologetically before fixing an unsettling gaze on me.
My palms dampen. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. I sounded too eager. I might have made Sarth suspicious. It’s unsettling enough that I don’t hear Buir humming in the galley like she usually does when she’s cooking—a sign to me that she’s unduly stressed about what we’ve asked her to do.
“Drink up!” Sarth gestures to the pitcher.
I reach for a tumbler, just as a violent shudder goes through the guts of the ship, knocking the pitcher to the floor. Sarth and Crank leap to their feet, swearing loudly.
“What was that?” Buir cries, as she comes running out of the galley.
Sarth pulls out her gun. “Something hit us. Everyone to the control room. Now!” She gestures us out of the mess room.
Heart pounding, I make my way out into the hallway. Buir slips me a worried glance. I don’t know if she’s managed to doctor the food yet, or not. But that concern will have to wait. If the ship’s under fire, we’ll need all hands on deck.
We barely have time to make it to the state-of-the-art control room before another loud boom vibrates through the hull of the ship.
“Incoming! Man the weapons!” Sarth yells to Crank as she throws herself into the pilot chair. She frantically pulls the ship out of autopilot and wrenches the control stick, increasing our speed to maximum thrust. “Find out who’s on our tail and how many,” she yells over her shoulder to Velkan.
He slides into the co-pilot chair and begins a rapid exchange of information with Sarth as she banks hard to evade the bullets ripping into the underbelly of our ship. Velkan pinpoints our pursuer on the viewfinder and enlarges the ship on the screen as Sarth wrestles with the control stick to avoid an intercept trajectory. “What are we looking at?” she barks.
“Armored hulk, bristling with weapons,” Velkan says, a note of hesitation in his voice. “A Dreadnought.”
Sarth frowns across at him. “Any markings?”
He nods. “Red flaming triangle with a spike going through it.”
Velkan’s eyes meet mine.
Body poachers!
7
“Poachers on our tail!” Sarth yells to Crank.
Buir claps a trembling hand over her mouth as it dawns on her who Sarth is alluding to. Ghil quickly slips an arm over her shoulder, his expression tense.
My thoughts slam into one another in quick succession. It can’t be a coincidence. It must be Furax. But how does he know we left with Sarth and Crank? We could be hiding at the port, o
r have stowed away on another vessel.
Velkan glances back at me and I can tell by the look on his face that he’s asking himself the same question. “Jourd,” he mouths.
I shake my head. “No, he wouldn’t do something like this. He tried to warn me.”
“Maybe Furax got to him,” Velkan says, his tone grim.
My heartbeat races faster as I wrestle with the possibility. I can’t imagine Jourd with his kind eyes and candid smile betraying me, not after everything he’s done to help me. But, there’s no other explanation for it. Dread tingles at the back of my neck. Jourd didn’t betray me for the reward when he had his chance, which means Furax must have forced it out of him. I swallow hard. Jourd’s in a world of trouble because of me.
The Zebulux banks into a reckless ascent as Sarth does her best to shake our attackers. Crank lets loose a barrage of heavy duty plasma cannon fire, his face a pulsing mask of fury. He probably thinks we’re under attack because of some deal gone bad with the body poachers he does business with on Diretus. I’m not about to tell him the truth. He might decide to give us up if things get too hot.
“Find me somewhere to hide out!” Sarth yells to Velkan.
“Nothing but plague-ridden planets in this next stretch of the Netherscape,” Velkan says, scanning the charts.
Sarth grips the control stick with a resolute air. “It’ll work in our favor. Those roaches on our tail will never suspect we’d stop here. They’ll think we outran them. Give me some coordinates.”
Velkan frowns across at her. “Are you sure you want to do that? You know what those plague planets are like.”
“Are you questioning me, serf?” Sarth snarls, her fist curling tightly around the control stick as she wrestles to gain altitude. “Find me a remote valley to tuck into until the body poachers are well out of range.”
Velkan hesitates, his features taut with anger at the derogatory reference to his former servitude. Gritting his teeth, he leans over the console and rattles off some coordinates to Sarth. I let out a silent breath of relief. This is hardly the time to remind Sarth that Velkan’s no longer her serf. Not when our lives are on the line.
Girl of Blood: A Science Fiction Dystopian Novel (The Expulsion Project Book 3) Page 6