Salvo: A Sci-Fi Romance (The Jekh Saga Book 3)

by H. E. Trent

  Luke cringed. “Compared to what, man?”

  “Good point.”

  Salehi set down his greasy water glass and turned his wrist COM over. He pushed his receiver bud into his ear and muttered, “Yeah?” Then, to Luke and Owen, he mouthed, “Four,” indicating it was the ship that’d been farthest out. They’d last been in contact with Lillian.

  Owen was eager for news about his sisters and Ais, but didn’t think he was going to get any from that source. He hated being on the edge—hated being so distracted and not knowing what was happening, but he had to trust McGarrys to do what needed to be done, and they’d do it in their own ways.

  Just like Michael had.

  Owen let out a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  Salehi elbowed him. “Your granddad says they have a very barebones list of missing women. Obviously, Jekhans had to report the names, and—”

  “And dead men don’t speak. Yeah.”

  Salehi grimaced. “What we’ve got is a start. The women will help us fill in the gaps.”

  “And they should be able to tell us where the rest are, hopefully,” Luke said low. “There can’t be more than twenty or thirty here.”

  “Amy is too far out on the other ship, but Fastida and Eileen are going to wait on The Tin Can to help them feel comfortable. They’re not gonna believe a bunch of Terran guys mean them anything good, but if we can get them to go along without a fight, we can at least put some distance between here and space.”

  “And take the long way around to Jekh,” Luke said.

  “Yeah. Cover our tracks a little.”

  “Other two ships are docked and ready,” Salehi whispered. He pulled the bud from his ear and Owen covered him as he repositioned his weapons and made himself look as harmless as always.

  He was good at that in the same way Marco was good at taking up a lot of space and still being ignored.

  “All right. Pull your hat down some more, Owen, and Luke, put those glasses back on.”

  They pushed their disguises back into place, such as they were, and then moved one by one toward the long promenade that connected the vendor units on the station. Owen hadn’t assessed them beyond glancing briefly and deciding that nothing they sold was worth the credits. Same cheap shit he could get everywhere, just like going to a dollar store on Earth. Outer space was surprisingly generic.

  Salehi led several meters ahead of Owen, walking casually and looking at nothing in particular.

  Owen glanced briefly over his shoulder at Luke, and Luke was being Luke—stopping to peer at the wares vendors were aggressively hawking and pretending to listen to the sales spiels.

  Owen kept moving, fastening Salehi in his gaze and trying to walk with the same natural confidence. Nobody paid Salehi any attention because he looked like he was supposed to be there. Owen didn’t have practice with fitting in. He was too used to being nowhere and liking it.

  By the time they approached the slave market, Luke had caught up, but had somehow entered the atrium area through a different artery.

  He had his hands stuffed into his pockets and circled the room, smirking at each huddled woman he passed.

  Laying it on thick. Being Luke, really.

  Owen took a different tactic. He went straight to the guy with the tablet and pointed toward the mass of women. “How much you asking?”

  The guy looked up.

  Owen gave himself a mental pat on the back for not immediately taking a step back. The guy looked like he’d had one of his eyes scratched out and the eyelid sewn back on. The brown hair that had once been on the right side of his head was instead a scaly field of scalp.

  Jesus.

  “Whaddaya want ’em for?” he asked.

  Swallowing, Owen shrugged. “Maybe I’ve got a bunk that needs warming.”

  The guy scoffed. “Yeah, they’ll warm ’em all right. That’s about all they’re good for.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Eh, never mind me.” He chuckled. “Sometimes I say crazy stuff.” The guy shuffled toward the throng, dragging what appeared to be a limp right leg behind him. “Where ya from, by the way? Can’t place the accent.”

  Owen’s body tightened before he forced himself to release the tension and be normal—act normal.

  “This ear ain’t so good anymore,” the guy said, pointing to the torn-up ear on the right side.

  Oh.

  “Connecticut,” Owen said.

  “Yeah? Hoity-toity blue blood, huh? Lah-di-dah, I’ll show you the high-end merchandise. Right this way.” The guy with the tablet gestured toward the right side of the atrium and, when he turned his back, Owen rolled his eyes. He didn’t really want to know what that guy’s idea of “high-end” was.

  Still, as he traversed the room, he glanced briefly at the seated, huddled figures he passed by. Most didn’t look back. Some fidgeted with small projects like knitting or hand looming. Others just stared blankly ahead. A couple gripped babies and small children close.

  Shit.

  He hadn’t thought about kids, but obviously, some of the women would be bound to have them. The men who had touched them almost certainly hadn’t been the sorts who’d take precautions.

  The guy with the tablet swept a demonstrative hand toward a section of young women, none of whom would meet Owen’s gaze. “These are all under thirty, best I can tell. They don’t really like to volunteer nothin’.”

  “Yeah, I imagine they don’t.”

  “Not too used up, I guess.”

  “Hmm.” Owen crouched near one, not really looking at her, but improving his angle so he could see Salehi better. Salehi was near the doorway, staring up at the ceiling in that, “Check out that interesting architecture” way that a nerd like him would.

  Luke was across the room, studiously ignoring Marco, and scowling at a tablet one of the other slavers held up to him.

  Owen did a quick count of the women in the space to confirm Marco’s estimate. The guess may have been a bit low. There were probably around forty women, plus twenty or so kids. They could certainly fit them all between the four ships. Sixty wasn’t nearly enough. They’d have to find the rest, and Owen hoped those ladies would be able to tell them where the others were.

  “Nah,” Owen said standing. “Young’s all right, but I need someone with a little more experience, you know?”

  The slaver nodded sagely. “A connoisseur, I see. Come right this way.” He picked his way toward the middle of the room where more of the women had taken on those vacant stares. “The older they get, the more likely they’ll have a brat, though.” He laughed, a deep, throaty wheeze that made Owen’s upper lip curl, but the guy wasn’t looking. He was too busy pulling women’s heads up by their hair and making them look at him.

  Owen’s palm itched. He wanted to grab his gun by the barrel and pistol-whip the guy, but the there were too many slavers in the room. Violence would have to wait until they’d cleared those women out of the space.

  Salehi had a plan for that. They’d need a couple of hours to deploy it, though.

  “You’ll have to do something with this one’s brat,” the slaver said.

  Owen turned his attention downward to the scowling woman clutching a little girl of around three or four on her lap. The woman looked to be around Amy’s age. She had dark auburn hair and violet eyes. Her features would have been delicate and sweet if not for her hard expression. She didn’t point it at the slaver, though—she’d likely made that mistake before. She was looking pointedly at Owen.

  The little girl twined her fingers through her mother’s hair and leaned against her chest, fingers stuffed into her mouth, and stomach growling.

  Owen gritted his teeth. “How much?”

  “Less if you’ll take the kid, too.”

  “Whatever.”

  The woman bared her teeth at him.

  He reeled at her hatred at him, but at least she wasn’t passive. Sneering was better than playing dead, in his opinion.

&nbs
p; The slaver turned his tablet around and showed Owen a figure he gave barely a cursory glance to. The credits weren’t a problem. Lillian made sure they had funds to draw on, but he still needed to be careful with how he handled the transaction.

  “Nah,” Owen said, standing.

  “Why not?”

  “Well…” Owen shrugged and caught Marco’s gaze in the corner. Marco was slouching with his feet up on the promenade railing, and comically cleaning the tiniest knife ever. He’d made a big deal about that knife to the port security agent and had damn near threw a tantrum when the man had refused to confiscate it. The knife wasn’t meant to cut. It was actually a scanner Doc had helped Owen put together in a pinch. The device should have been able to help them locate any implanted tracking chips in the women, but they wouldn’t know until they had a test subject. They’d only had some of the old chips from Sector Seven and Ais’s Tyneali implant to use as examples of the tech.

  Owen rubbed his chin and sucked in some air. “I dunno. For that price, you should keep the kid.”

  Another woman scrambled forward and put her arms around both the lady and the child.

  The mother whispered something to her, but the newcomer didn’t go away. She clung tighter.

  The guy swung his bum leg toward the newcomer and spat, “Move,” but she didn’t. She winced, but stayed.

  Good.

  The slaver groaned and turned to Owen. “Hey, maybe someone else.”

  “What’s wrong with them?”

  “Usual shit.”

  “What, are they in love?”

  The guy did that ominous laugh again, and clutched his heart. “Aw, hell, I haven’t heard a good joke in forever. Thanks, man. That might even be worth a discount.” He shook his head and made a noncommittal hand gesture. “Nah, I think they’re related.”

  Ah.

  Owen could see the resemblance then. Their coloring was slightly different, but their features were similar. Same chin shapes. Same foreheads.

  “There’s another one around here somewhere, too. I try to keep them separated or else I’d never sell shit, you know? Too much of a hassle when they’re together.”

  Owen tried to look convincingly interested as he scanned the room. “Where is she?”

  Luke had moved to the young woman Owen had refused earlier. Salehi had a woman at his arm—young with pale hair and, for some reason, nearly naked.

  Marco was still cleaning his knife.

  “Uhhh, let’s see.” The guy picked through the room again. “I think she was the youngest of the three. Hard to remember.”

  “I bet.”

  The slaver snapped his fingers. “Oh. Shit. Never mind.”

  “What?”

  He shrugged. “When you do the level of trade I do, sometimes the merchandize gets a bit banged up, but that’s okay. Sometimes, my special customers like that kind of shit.”

  Owen narrowed his eyes at the man. “What do you mean special?”

  “You know. Guys who like ’em broken in in advance.”

  Owen gritted his teeth again and pulled in a deep breath through his nose.

  “You wouldn’t happen to like that kind of thing, would ya?” the guy asked.

  “I don’t judge.”

  “So, what are ya thinkin’?”

  “Find her.”

  The guy laughed and gave Owen a hard clap on the back. “Ahh, I see, I see.”

  Owen rolled his eyes and didn’t bother hiding the expression. “No, find her so I can take the three. Easier to take them if they’re together. They’re less whiny.”

  The guy furrowed his brow. “Uh…all three, you say?”

  “Plus the kid.” Owen pointed to the figure on the screen. “All four for half that.”

  “Half! You gotta be kiddin’ me.”

  “You want them gone or not?”

  “Shit.” The guy shifted his weight and looked about the room, clucking his tongue. “Lemme think. What the fuck was her issue? She… Oh!” He hobbled forth, then stopped. “Wait, half that? I can’t even flush a toilet around here for that much.”

  “Not my problem. Number might get smaller the longer you keep me waiting. I don’t have time for this. I need to be somewhere tomorrow afternoon and shouldn’t even be on this station right—”

  “Okay, okay! Just give me a minute. Can’t find good help nowadays, you know what I mean?” He gestured to a younger man idling near a support column, and called over, “Get those annoying two and the brat ready to go. Where’s the other one?”

  The younger guy glanced around, pointing, and then mouthed, “Oh.” He pointed straight down.

  The woman in front of him wore a ragged cloak and had pulled the hood up over her head. Her face was completely in shadow.

  “Right this way,” Owen’s guide said.

  The woman didn’t move as they approached. Didn’t look up.

  The guy tapped her with the side of his boot. “Come on. You’re outta here. Get up unless you want those ladies to leave without you.”

  She still didn’t move.

  He tugged her up by the arm, and her hood fell away to reveal the mask of pain she wore across her face. “Oh, I’m sorry,” the guy said sarcastically. “Was that your good arm? I keep forgetting which is which.”

  He thrust her toward Owen, and tapped some commands into his tablet computer. “You said half?”

  The woman held tears in her eyes as she rolled her arm in its socket. Any normal person might have lifted a hand to rub the shoulder, but her other shoulder hung low, the arm seemingly limp.

  “What’s wrong with her arm?” Owen asked.

  The guy looked up from the tablet. “What?”

  “I said what’s wrong with her arm?”

  The guy shrugged. “Got crushed, maybe. Who knows? We don’t keep track.”

  “Did the injury happen before or after you got her?”

  The guy’s next shrug was a little slower.

  Bastard.

  Owen’s palms itched again.

  “Got your chip ready?” the slaver asked. “I’m all set for you to swipe.”

  Owen glanced at the screen, and then looked back to the woman, who’d finally turned her gaze up to him. Her eyes were an unusual lilac color and her forehead a bit taller than the others’, but her skin was a pale ocher like her sisters. Half-siblings, perhaps. They probably shared a mother.

  “Not paying you sales tax,” Owen told the guy, turning his attention back to him. “You eat the tax. I don’t know what that’s even being assessed for.”

  “All right, all right.” He adjusted the figure. “Better?”

  “Fine.” Owen waved the currency chip over the reader and tucked it back into his pocket before the guy could try to angle the reader for a second covert swipe.

  “Need a receipt?” he asked.

  “Get out of here with that, will you?” Owen snapped.

  “All right, all right. I always ask. No reason for folks to get so damn snarky.” The slaver chuckled. “Do you need help out to your car with your purchases?”

  Owen glowered at him.

  “Jeez. Nobody can take a joke anymore.”

  “I’m in a hurry.”

  “Okay. Suit yourself. Bring her along then, and you can do what you’d like with the others.”

  The seller shuffled through the now-curious mass of women to where the other two were standing with the child and the slaver’s associate. “If you need shackles or anything like that, that’ll cost you extra.”

  “If I need them, I’ll come back.” Owen took the crippled woman by the good arm and led her along, as gently as he could without looking too gentle. He canted his head toward the exit and frowned at the other two women. “Don’t try anything funny. Walk ahead of me, or I’ll make sure this bitch has two arms that don’t work.”

  They got moving.

  “Pleasure doing business with you sir,” the seller said.

  Fuck you.

  Owen caught Marco’s gaze as he lef
t, and Marco gave him the barest nod.

  He needed Marco to scan those women before they moved away from the station.

  “Keep moving,” Owen told the ladies in front of him. “Port side.” For the benefit on the onlookers, he added, “Don’t piss me off. Paid too much for you to deal with this crap.”

  One of the women harrumphed—the one with the child, the best he could tell.

  He didn’t care if she was annoyed. At least she was alive.

  The crowd thinned the nearer they got toward the docking area, but when the ladies started to go right, he steered them toward the left.

  “This way,” he whispered. “Just keep walking toward Berth Six.”

  They went down that hall. There was no one behind them, and when the automated doors shut at the end, Owen double-tapped the band of his wrist COM. “Owen on approach,” he said. “I’ve got four. Unlock.”

  “Understood,” Eileen returned.

  The two women in the front shared a confused look.

  The airlock opened, and then the hatch of The Tin Can, and Eileen stood, gesturing them in. “Come on, ladies. Go on down the hall to the—wait. Y’all speak English?”

  The woman with the child looked back at Owen.

  He put up his hands. “It’s all right. That’s Eileen. She’s going to get you something to eat and find you someplace to sleep. Maybe there’s even enough hot water on this thing for you to bathe tonight.”

  “What do you want?” the woman asked.

  “Nothing,” Eileen said indignantly, and then cringed. “Except, maybe a little info, but that can come later. Need to get y’all off this floating pile of junk first.”

  “What is happening?”

  “We’re trying to move you before the slavers do.”

  The woman’s brow furrowed.

  “We need to know where the others are,” Owen said. “Where are the rest of the women? Are there more on this station? Any others nearby?”

  “Owen, stop yammering at them and let them come in.”

  Fastida appeared behind her.

  One of the ladies gasped.

  Fastida waved, and said something in Jekhani. A lot of something. She was good at that.

  All three women turned to look at Owen.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” Fastida said. “I just told them you weren’t going to touch them because you’re mostly a monk, anyway, and that this is a rescue mission. You know, that kind of stuff.”