“W hat’s your problem? The fucker owns a slaver ship,” Ahnna hissed at Tierc stood beside her at the bar.
She fought not to look at him, still fascinated by his altered appearance, his eyes a strange blue courtesy of decorative lens, his hair cropped shorter, shaved one side, and a dark stubble altering the shape of his jaw. She wasn’t so enamored with her own appearance, her long wavy hair tied back in multiple colored braids, eyebrows thickened and extended, and the lens in her eyes a soft emerald. She wore lipstick and fake eyelashes. She hadn’t recognized her reflection in Club Voltai’s bathroom.
She sipped a shot of the local brew and glanced back at the slavering slaver captain, found the Rafter’s leering eyes glued to her black leather-clad ass. The slaver leered and beckoned her back to the dealing table. Ahnna turned her back on him. Captain Valen Astori would hate that.
“He touches you and I’ll break his neck.” Tierc spoke through gritted teeth, favoring the jaw he’d broken earlier that day in a pit fight while earning more funds to gamble.
“You will not!”
Ahnna bit her tongue. Her teammate turned lover displayed a jealous streak that both warmed her most intimate regions and irritated her to hell. She’d taken a break from playing poker to steady her nerves, not nursemaid Tierc’s mating pride. The barman moved to place a second shot before her, but Ahnna refused. During six months apprenticeship as a female Dominant in a seedy Vegas casino she’d played numerous poker games and noted three general reactions to her haughty winning streak from men and women alike, riveted interest, bemusement, and outrage. Astori she had not yet pegged. He had logged his ship with Club Voltai as guarantee of payment, as she had done with the Orion Nebula, but unlike Ahnna, Valen Astori was running low on funds and well-fueled on drink.
She needed to provoke him a little more.
The barman moved to another customer and Tierc rested his elbows on the bar, eyes fixed on his smoking liquor. “I don’t like this.”
“We’re good. There’s nothing in Octiron’s rule book about cheating and the man’s a damn slaver!”
Tierc scowled like a fly farted in his drink.
The noble Qui wanted to win fair and square. Not possible. Cheating was the simplest, smartest way, assuming they didn’t get caught. Despite the advantage of knocking off another challenge by winning the slaver ship, she and Tierc had considered alternate strategies to gaining a slaver ship. A hijack was too crazy; they’d be outnumbered, outgunned and wind up on a Central Alliance felon list. Likewise, the Orion Nebula wouldn’t stand a chance in an all-out dogfight. Even if they provoked the slaver into firing first so they could claim self-defense, they needed to acquire a ship undamaged. Nor would they risk harming any slaves on board. A gambling hijack made the most sense. Slavers reassigned ownership of their ships all the time, usually to pay off a debt to the Central Alliance.
In the end, they went with Atton’s tip of a gambling den on Roltair Med popular with Rafters.
“What’s my next play?” she asked.
“Axo reports an eighty point two percent chance the next ten cards will be low swords.”
The AI was tapped into the den’s security cameras, counting cards even when Ahnna wasn’t playing. Octiron wanted access into Verdon and, suddenly, Axo couldn’t be more helpful. In addition, the Orion Nebula carried a small supply of miniature cameras no bigger than a fly. Zeke’s drone watched from the exposed steel girders supporting the ceiling.
This game was their best chance and Astori deserved to forfeit his ill-gotten gains. Despite the fact they were cheating, hardcore, they still held the moral high ground over a slag bucket slaver.
Sitting across from Captain Valen Astori, Ahnna detected a gleam in the Rafter’s eyes, excitement quickly hidden. The other two players dropped out. She studied her hand, cool, calm and collected, almost disinterested in the outcome. Low swords would have provoked a slight tightening of Astori’s knuckles, and Axo had been proven wrong before. She’d steadily forced the captain to sink every last coin onto the table. The asshole wanted a win. Needed a win. Judging by the aggression rolling off Astori, the creep longed to slam her face into the ground. She allowed a smile to twitch her lips, took her card and pushed her winnings across the table without looking at the new hand she’d been dealt.
Anger flashed across Astori’s face. He looked again at his hand, hiding it from the audience gathered around them. Witnesses helped her cause, upped the pressure on her opponent. She calculated a pulsar remained in the deck. A sane man, even one gripped by a waking wet dream, would play his hand. Valen resisted the sensible play. She smiled triumphantly. Astori Valen had a second to decide. She moved to collect her winnings and the captain struck.
“Hold.” Astori’s jaw visibly ground one way before he got a grip.
Aggrieved, Ahnna sat back. “You pulled out at two million credits yesterday.”
“At least they were my credits.”
“I won my stake fairly.” Never had she spoken a lie so easily. Axo had researched Astori’s ship, the Krakan Toll. Astori logged a carrion weight equivalent to a thousand men. Did he have no conscience? She regulated her blood pressure. The more she looked in complete control the more she goaded him. If she lost her stake, Tierc could earn enough fighting to start again. If Astori lost, he surrendered his living, his pride, his self-respect.
Astori snuck a peek at his cards one last time. He unwound a pendant from around his neck, placed it on the table in front of him. “Will you accept a ship?”
“Does it carry lawful cargo?”
“Yes.”
Liar.
Ahnna turned to the watching dealer. “I require certification.”
“Of course.”
The captain placed his finger on the indented screen and the pendant lit up displaying registered details including the ship’s name: Krakan Toll.
A man Ahnna assumed was Astor’s lieutenant bent down and whispered urgently in the captain’s ear. Astori snapped back, and the man winced. Shrugging, he stepped away. Astori pushed the pendant into the accumulated stack of credits and grinned, self-confidence oozing from every pore. He dared Ahnna to win. Slowly he placed his hand face up, a straight flush of high swords. The cards always defy the odds. Ahnna blinked, looked down at her hands. She laid down the first ace, the second. Astori lunged out for his pendant but the dealer slapped down his arm. Both dealer and Astori watched her lay out five of a kind, including the wild card she’d nursed from the first hand.
Pure luck, no cheating required.
Poker was easy. Building the stake was the true skill, and playing her opponent’s character flaws to the fullest.
Ahnna pushed her finger into the groove receptor. The screen returned to its metallic appearance and Ahnna placed the pendant around her neck. Astori looked ready to rip her head off with his bare hands.
“The win has been recorded and certified,” the dealer announced. He glanced at Astori and then turned back to Ahnna. “Do you wish to avail yourself of an armed guard, courtesy of the house?”
Ahnna stood as house security moved in. “I do. Please arrange the transfer of my winnings to my account?”
“Of course. Well played, Anaisha Sur.” The dealer leaned forward. “I will be watching your next exploit with great interest, Anaisha. Huge fan.” His voice dropped, lines creasing his eyes. “I’m really sorry about your little boy.”
Ahnna’s heart lurched and then she smiled, the first genuine smile she’d given since entering the establishment. “Thank you.”
Pleasure lit up the dealer’s eyes. He looked ready to swoon. Fuck. Had Octiron aired Zeke’s shots of her and Tierc in bed? Were they heating up the black market across the entire sector? Clearly they were getting favorable coverage, but if the dealer spread word of GSR contestants winning the Krakan Toll… They needed to get to Verdon fast, assume a better disguise. At least the dealer would never realize he’d been party to a scam, even if she’d won that last hand on her own intuition. Octiron couldn’t be seen colluding with its contestants, forcing Ahnna and Tierc to keep quiet, too. The gag order in their contracts forbid them from ever divulging information that could bring Octiron into disrepute, got Octiron out of the whole abduction thing and a multitude of other sins as well.
* * *
Tierc hustled Ahnna through the streets to a hired transport. They piled in and he handed over Ahnna’s GSR comms-link. She placed it against her ear under her hair.
“Spaceport, the Krakan Toll,” he directed.
They raced against the clock, Astori only needed seconds to warn his crew. Two of their armed escort leapt onto an outside foot support and grabbed the handrail. The air cab took off. Tierc watched Ahnna look out for the men hanging on for their lives outside, biting her lip with worry.
He glanced back at Club Voltai, recognized Astori storming out the front entrance. Bouncer types blocked his path. Axo had outlined the protection they would receive after winning a valuable stake like the Krakan Toll. The gambling den took a cut of Ahnna’s winnings and the Central Alliance strictly forbade disgruntled gamblers stealing back their losses. As Axo predicted, the Voltai had alerted the spaceport of a hostile transfer of ownership. Port officers joined their posse at the bridge to the Krakan Toll. A skeleton crew stood on the platform, weapons raised.
Ahnna stepped forward and Tierc fought the urge to haul her back as she called out, “I am Anaisha Sur. You received the transfer of ownership?” Her heart pounded.
A hostile silence had Tierc’s Qui emerging, shut down by a stabbing sensation. Skal. He couldn’t love or protect her without his DNA threatening revolt. Zeke’s drone hovered several meters above their heads, unnoticed by the Krakan Toll’s crew and their armed escort.
“Show them your license.” Crandal spoke to Ahnna, his voice coming through Tierc’s comms as well.
Ahnna showed her pendant. “I’m assuming there’s valuable cargo on board. Take whatever you can carry and leave peacefully. You have five minutes and then we’re boarding.”
Her voice conveyed a quiet confidence. Ahnna reminded Tierc of her welcome of him at her hotel door in Vegas, except this time her heart pumped fast for a few seconds before she regained control. Ahnna had been trained for pretense, to assume a character role and pull it off for months on end. Unease swept through him. Would he ever know the real Ahnna?
Axo recited a port regulation and Ahnna smoothly took his cue. “Only when I assume command will legal responsibility for the cargo revert to me. If customs need to get involved…”
“Yer needing a pilot?” one asked.
Ahnna glanced at Tierc. His expression glared no. He didn’t trust Astori’s crew.
“I have my own. Four minutes.”
The pilot turned and dived back into the Krakan Toll. The rest followed.
“Let’s hope they’re not firing up their weapons,” an official addressed Ahnna. “Ma’am, we allow some leeway for owner transfers. A cargo inspection is scheduled for the fourth rotation, assuming you’re still in dock.”
“They don’t want the headache of traffic violations,” Crandal reminded them, his voice breathier than normal.
“Thank you, Officer,” Ahnna replied.
“We should board now.” Impatience edged Tierc’s voice. He didn’t like the idea of the crew roaming loose inside the ship.
Ahnna chased him up the boarding walk. No one else did. “Wait another two minutes,” she argued.
“You think they’re gonna play fair?”
She hesitated at the ship’s main hatch, fingers resting lightly on her sidearm. Tierc raised his until its snout almost touched his nose. A crewman stopped dead, a backpack hanging off his shoulder, raising his own weapon. Tierc nodded him through. A thick stench of body odor preceded his passage and hung around after he’d passed their watching escort. Inside they could hear shouting.
“Ahnna, Wait here.”
Silvery-grey eyes snapped to his. “We’re a team.”
Her raised eyebrows challenged him, mutely questioned why he’d even suggest she couldn’t look after herself. How to explain the terror threading his gut had nothing to do with her competence in combat and everything to do with an overpowering need to protect his mate? He studied the depressing hallway inside. Two men appeared through the hatch door at the end, laden to the gills, actual gills that flapped open at the side of their necks. Webbing joined their fingers. Zeke’s miniature drone darted around them. The nearest fish-man swore and drew his weapon, fired at the tiny robot.
Tierc shot his blaster right out of his hand as Ahnna dropped to her knee. Her weapon covered the other guy who hesitated.
“Take it easy,” he yelled, glancing up at the drone. “We’re leaving.”
The crewman he’d shot was shaking his hand, the burn minimal—Tierc had aimed for the blaster. Always smart to take out the weapon. He slowly pulled out a rag from a pocket, and reached for the smoking gun, his eyes on Tierc.
Ahnna took the opportunity to slip inside the door, peering down her blaster at the man. “Five minutes are up. Go now.”
With three down, Tierc moved in.
A fourth crew member sidled past them hands raised, bag full.
“Leaves the pilot.” Tierc snuck a look around the corner. Place had turned into a graveyard.
Ahnna checked her watch and slammed the door shut, spinning the lock. “We gotta go.”
Tierc nodded. They moved towards the bridge, switching lead, one covering the other. They crept into the cockpit, Tierc pointing at two feet below a chair. It swung towards them, revealed the pilot as it swung to a stop.
“I bin w’ the Krakan Toll twenty years. Seen cap’n’s come and go. I meant it. You want a pilot, yer got one, but I’m n’aire leaving her.”
Ahnna studied him, her weapon raised. The drone flew past, startling the blue-haired Rafter heading on seventy years. “Slaving don’t worry you then,” she remarked.
His thick eyebrows shot up. Black eyes narrowed, met her stare. “Tis the slaving’s why I’m here. I’m all that’s stood tw’n life’ n’ death. I smuggle ‘em water ‘n’ food.” His blood was raised, his delivery passionate, daring them to turf him out.
Ahnna felt inclined to believe him. “We need to leave now.”
The man swung to the console and pointed at a pendant shaped depression. “Yer got the key?”
Tierc moved in behind her, scanning their rear for surprises.
The console lit up with Ahnna’s key together with her fingerprint. This ship went nowhere without its captain. Although the pilot only needed her finger to hijack ownership.
“What’s your name?” Tierc asked.
“Jalo. Jalo Vichai.”
Jalo ran systems with fluid ease. A wrenching screech was the dock clamps releasing their hold and then the Krakan Toll launched into space. “Yer have a destination in mind?”
Tierc quoted some spatial coordinates, raising Jalo’s eyebrows. The pilot swung around, eyes narrowed. “Yer won’t git a good price there.”
“That’s not a problem,” Ahnna replied.
* * *
Unwilling to leave Jalo alone, they took him with them into the Krakan’s bowels.
Ahnna wrinkled her nose at the putrid stench of the cargo level. Her stomach roiled, nerves on edge. A thud made her jump.
“Tis Dwen. Very angry Fraron.” Jalo knocked gently on a door. “Dwen. Tis me. No food. Next time.”
“Wait. Unlock the door,” Ahnna demanded.
Jalo’s jaw dropped.
“Dwen!” Tierc called out. “We’re the new owners of the Krakan Toll, but we’re not slavers. We just want to talk. Hear our plan for your release.”
Jalo pursed his lips and then nodded. “Yers gonna need Dwen onside.”
Stabbing a numeric keypad, Jalo unlocked the door. Tierc raised his weapon. Ahnna stood her ground against the mountainous creature that stormed them, realized her mistake too late. Dwen’s fist crashed down onto Tierc’s arm as Ahnna ducked from a killing blow.
With Qui strength and a pained curse, his blaster pointed at Jalo, Tierc forced Dwen back to the wall. Sweat trickled down his blue flushed skin. “We’re not here to hurt you,” he yelled.
Ahnna swung her weapon up to cover Jalo, leaving Tierc free to turn his weapon on Dwen. Her heart thumped. She’d thought the slaves would be cowed and docile, pleased to see them. She glanced at Dwen, hissed in a breath at the monstrous weals decorating his body.
“He’s right, Dwen,” she called out, motioning Jalo to stay still. “We’re not slavers, we’re here to help, to free you all, if you’ll let us, but we will fight for our lives. You understand?”
“Tis true?” Jalo asked. “You’ll let them go. All of them?”
“Every last one,” Ahnna promised, still unsure of Jalo’s agenda here. “But we need to reach an understanding. Dwen, we need your help.”
She thought the Fraron a tad calmer, that Dwen heard her plea. With his huge size, matted yellow hair and a huge brow, Dwen looked like an ogre of Earth folklore. His welts merged against his dark skin, although she could make out a lighter pigmentation where scars had healed.
Tierc relaxed his hold, backed off slightly. “Sorry about that. Ahnna’s kinda precious to me.”
A fiery blush raced up Ahnna’s neck and enflamed her cheeks.
Dwen relaxed, his eyes pinned on Ahnna. She lowered her weapon and the slave turned to Jalo. “Where others?”
“Gorn. Left afore we set off like.”
The Fraron growled discontent. He spotted the drone and raised his fist to smash it aside.
“Please don’t,” Ahnna yelped. “It’s monitoring us. Making sure we do things right.”
She didn’t like to lie, but revealing Octiron’s involvement could complicate things down the line. Dwen subsided, taking her at her word.
“Will you help us calm the others, give us a chance to speak?” Tierc asked.
Dwen nodded. “For now.”
“Do you need anything?” Ahnna asked gesturing to his wounds. “A med kit?”
“No.” His gaze softened. “I thank thee for asking.”
She smiled. “Whatever you need. If it’s on the ship, I mean.”
Jalo winced. “Be careful what you offer.”
“Meds, food, water, clothes,” Ahnna clarified, a sudden vision of brawls over riches. “I don’t know what we’ve got yet, but we’re happy to share.”
“You promise freedom.”
“And I meant that. We’re headed to the Syral system.”
Jalo nodded confirmation. The pilot straightened, his whole demeanor suddenly lighter. “Y’knows. Syral’s government dinna abide trafficking. T’is a good place, Dwen.”
Ahnna exchanged a glance with Tierc. Her teammate had relaxed, and the way Dwen listened to Jalo—the frown glowering over his brow easing—suggested the Krakan Toll’s pilot held a good relationship with the slaves.
“Are there many more?” she asked.
* * *
Ahnna couldn’t get her head around the numbers locked up below deck. Hundreds. Nay, thousands! Two thousand and fifty-three to be precise, and if Jalo hadn’t warned them before they clambered down the short ladder into a subfloor space under the near empty cargo hold, they’d have been overwhelmed. Ahnna gagged. Excrement flooded the floor. The low ceiling forced Tierc to stoop. The mass of the Krakan Toll pressed down on her and she grabbed Tierc’s sleeve to keep her balance. His arm went around her waist as they assessed the living husks cramming deep cages lining a ten-foot wide passageway stretched from bow to stern.
Not one human among those Ahnna could see.
A low growl startled her, the vibration rumbling against her ribs. Slaves pressed against the bars of their prison for lack of room shrank back. “You’re scaring them,” she whispered.
Tierc nodded, let her go and stepped forward. “I want you to listen. Pass the word.” Ahnna moved to get a better view. They’d agreed with Zeke she should wear the drone camera, like a pin on her lapel, keep the excitement level down. “We intend to free every last one of you on the planet Syral. We have chosen Syral because the government will help you return home. There is food and water in the cargo hold above, enough for everyone. There’s no need to rush.”
Except releasing hundreds was not so easy.
Ahnna and Tierc left Dwen to inspire order amongst the disoriented prisoners now roaming the cargo hold with Jalo in charge of food and water distribution. Back on the bridge, Ahnna reviewed Syral’s spaceport regulations while Tierc oversaw a drop out of hyperdrive. Jalo had plotted their jumps and their next stop would be the Syral sector.
Scrolling through the regulations, her heart sank. “Without a pre-registration certificate as an Alliance Trust vessel, they’ll arrest us for trafficking slaves. This is ridiculous. How hard can it be to free people?”
The task they’d taken on hit them both.
“The Krakan Toll’s supposed to be a slaver,” Tierc pointed out, his jaw tense. “We can’t dump two thousand slaves on Syral and hope Verdon doesn’t find out. Someone talks and our names, faces—the Krakan Toll—will get bandied about the sector. All it needs is one underground fan on the Great Space Race to blow our cover.”
Ahnna walked into his embrace, needing to feel his strength around her. “The dealer at the Voltai kept quiet. I’m sure he means to keep our secret. I think we need to take the risk, Tierc. They need off this slave ship quickly. We’re two against hundreds of lives.”
Tierc wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly, a mountain of comfort and strength. “Your causes will be the death of us—”
She pushed away. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“But…” and he kissed her nose, “I guess fighting for a cause can be seductive, and you’re right, we are two against hundreds. Fortunately, we aren’t without means.” Tierc checked his comms. “Right on cue.” He accepted the hail.
Axo appeared onscreen and Ahnna stepped back so they faced the screen side by side.
Tierc gave the AI no time to speak. “Axo. I need to speak with Crandal. Offline.”
“Yes, Tierc.”
“I’m here,” Crandal’s holo-image flickered over and then replaced Axo’s robotic face. “Zeke’s uploading the drone and we’re offline. You can speak freely. What do you need?”
“We need you to negotiate a transfer of slaves to a registered Alliance Trust ship before we reach Syral. Can you arrange that?”
“I can. The question being should I?”
“You fucking better,” Tierc snapped. “Releasing slaves isn’t part of your damned race. I accept you’re ethically challenged, but if we stand a chance of rescuing your High Priestess, you need to step up and—”
Ahnna brushed fingers against Tierc’s thigh and he stopped, looked at her.
“Imagine the PR,” she murmured. Crandal’s gaze shifted to Ahnna. “I mean, if Octiron took credit for negotiating the slave’s freedom…”
Crandal waved off the idea with a dismissive sneer. “A humanitarian mission will score points with the Central Alliance, not necessarily with our audience.” He paused, his expression strained. He seemed to be listening to someone they couldn’t hear. “Fine,” he declared. “As Octiron isn’t in the business of trafficking slaves—”
“If you don’t count abduction and coercion,” Tierc shot back.
Crandal inclined his head, a smirk lending him a sinister look. “Axo will inform you of the arrangements. In the meantime, I suggest you revisit your strategy for dealing with Verdon’s Tetriarch.”
The screen winked off.
“Revisit your strategy?” Ahnna’s brow creased. “Does Crandal know something I don’t? Strange. Thought I was captain of this ship.”
Her angst increased at his disconcerted grimace.
Tierc’s uncomfortable sigh didn’t reassure. “No, I have not been discussing our strategy with Crandal, but yeah, we should talk about that. We’re going to be a slaver ship without any slaves, with one exception.” He displayed his cuffed wrists and Ahnna’s stomach lurched.
She pressed his hands down, shaking her head. “No! We just need a cover. We don’t need a cargo to make a business deal. Once we have Xecara, we won’t need the Krakan Toll or Anaisha Sur.”
“Ahnna, your plan’s a mess. It won’t work, but we do have one advantage we can play. Octiron really want this challenge to work. They can help get us an audience with the Tetriarch.”