Inherit the Stars Page 16

  “Quickly, now, I haven’t got an entire waking cycle. You dress like an urbanite, but your drawl betrays lowly origins. Farmer? Perhaps even a salvager?” Jandeel grinned.

  “Yeah, yeah, you have me there. Bet you don’t get many salvagers with questions about the Vim.” She leaned on the table, staring at him.

  Jandeel’s grin faded. “The prophets have a conversion stall three cargo bays over. I’m sure they can answer your questions.”

  “Do I look religious? Okay, you’re suspicious because I’m from Inheritor Space. But I need a Sage, not a prophet. You guys are always gathering stuff from old paper books, chits, and whatever datacores you can get your hands on.”

  “Yes, but few really listen.” Jandeel’s gaze turned hard as steel.

  Kivita leaned closer and whispered. “I can write an entire crate of Haldon foodstuffs on this chit. Fortified with protein and antioxidants. I even have sugar-powdered reeds.”

  “You salvagers always boast. Fill out the chit now, so I’ll know you are serious.” Jandeel’s left hand crept beneath his cloak while he scanned the aisle outside.

  She did as he asked and handed it over. “C’mon, Sage. The Vim?”

  Jandeel put the chit into his belt pouch. “The Inheritors claim the Vim placed humans in the Cetturo Arm to punish them for some ancient misdeed. They hope if they assemble the wreckage and debris left behind by the Vim, they can leave the Arm and rejoin them in the galactic Core.”

  Kivita snorted. “I’m from Haldon Prime, remember? I know all that.”

  Jandeel leaned so close, she smelled Naxan sauce on his breath. “What the Inheritors don’t teach in their trite state programs is that the Vim were not gods. They did exist, but no one really knows why they left the Arm. The Inheritors also do not mention why humans, Ascali, and Aldaakians all breathe the same atmosphere, or why all three races have the same physiology. The same red blood, the same gravitational sensitivities.”

  Despite her dim surroundings, Kivita squatted beside Jandeel’s chair with interest. Old fears of zealots spying one’s every move made her whisper in his ear. “Go on.”

  Jandeel seemed to sense her trepidation, and whispered back. “Even the Kith have two arms, two legs, a head. Why? Only the Sarrhdtuu are different. Many Sages have postulated that the Sarrhdtuu are not only the Vim’s ancient enemies, but may have wiped them out. The Vim may not even exist anymore. Are we in the Cetturo Arm their children or their former slaves?”

  Kivita’s thoughts switched to images she’d received from the Juxj Star: cryopod-filled ships, or the Ascali leaving those tubes. Kith building crystal structures, and Aldaakians with light hair on their heads. Ships hundreds of light years away, hinting at a past waiting to be discovered at the edges of her consciousness.

  And the word “Cradle” repeating over and over in her mind.

  “Vim datacores?” she asked, shaking away such thoughts.

  Jandeel waited until five laughing prostitutes traveled down the aisle. “The Inheritors hoard them, never revealing what they find. Other humans hide them if found, like Tannocci nobles or Naxan merchants. The Aldaakians want them, but what they use them for, who knows? Only certain gifted humans can decode them, using brain waves. Have you heard of Savants?”

  “No. Go on.” Kivita’s head tingled.

  Two male Ascali mercenaries walked by. One glanced into their stall.

  Jandeel fidgeted beneath his cloak. “Savants can recall a datacore’s contents by touching it. Someone else must copy the information while the Savant recites it. Like a Sage.”

  “So that means a Savant doesn’t remember all of it afterward?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  Kivita bit her lip. Nothing she’d received from the Juxj Star had faded from memory. “Anything else?”

  “The Inheritors either kill or imprison Savants, according to rumor. Out here in Tannocci Space, some claim Savants are sheltered by the nobles. I bet you’ve never heard of the most famed one, since you come from an Inheritor world. Most have forgotten her name, even in my trade. A human queen from Susuron, who lived during feudal times.”

  A lump rose in Kivita’s throat. “What was her name?”

  “Terredyn Narbas, from a lineage shrouded in legend. The Inheritors executed her, the story goes. She wanted to spread knowledge contained in the datacores.”

  Kivita’s hands shook as the tingling in her head strengthened. “Are you . . .” She scanned the aisle behind them, her heart beating faster. “Are you a Thede? Will you help me?”

  Sweat beads broke out on Jandeel’s brow. “Help you with what? The Thedes are rebels, even in this system. Why, if an Inheritor merchant so much as heard you, you’d be reported—”

  “Can you help me?” She gripped his hand. Images of the colony ships from her visions came to mind again. From Jandeel’s bewildered gaze, it seemed he’d just seen the same thing in his own thoughts.

  His eyes widened. “Are you a—”

  A gloved hand covered Jandeel’s mouth as a dagger sank into his left side.

  Kivita leapt up as two hands grabbed her from behind. A cold blade touched her throat.

  “You are far more pleasing to the eye now than when you wore Orstaav’s polyarmor,” Shekelor Thal said, withdrawing the dagger from Jandeel’s side. The Sage gasped and slid from the stool. Four burly pirates in polyarmor entered the stall. One of them held a small device with a blinking screen. When the pirate turned it off, the tingling in Kivita’s head stopped.

  The bastards had tracked her. How?

  “The Naxans will have your head if I so much as scream. Everyone knows who you are.” Kivita tried not to look at Jandeel as he squirmed on the floor.

  Shekelor smiled. “You flatter me, but my name is known, not my face. Cooperate, or I shall remove your fingers. Blood won’t show in that pretty bodyglove you’re wearing.”

  How had Shekelor found her here, much less escaped the confrontation over Umiracan? His purple eye ticked, as if lacking full control of his green-rigged augmentations. Shekelor’s other eye stared at her with a sinister gleam.

  “Yeah, you’re such a charmer. Guess Sar got a good profit for me, and you’re here to collect? Bind this man’s wound, and I’ll come as quietly as a summer snail. I know you need me alive.” Kivita’s nonchalant tone differed with the furious pounding of her heart.

  Shekelor frowned. “Redryll is the reason I had to come to this system in the first place. If I ever find him, I shall haul that fool behind Fanged Pauper on a cable until he freezes in his suit. Now keep silent.” He gestured to one of his men, who ripped off Jandeel’s cloak and bound the dagger wound with brusque motions.

  A strange hope surged through Kivita. Perhaps Sar had acted the way he did for a reason. Or the supposed deal with the pirates had gone awry. Maybe it’d all been an act. Whatever the case, it meant he wasn’t Shekelor’s ally, and still lived.

  “I’ve spent two chits. The Naxans won’t release my ship until I’ve paid.” Kivita fought back a gasp as one of the pirates holding her squeezed her fingers until the joints popped.

  “He told ya to plumb shut ya mouth,” the pirate said.

  Stalling for time, Kivita forced a smirk on her face. “And leave Terredyn Narbas? It’s better than any ship in your little fleet, Shekelor. Why not share what I’ll get for selling the Juxj Star? Hell, I’m not greedy.” She hoped the Naxan mercenaries would pass the stall again.

  Shekelor’s three coils stretched out to her. One gripped her throat, one fondled her breasts, and one slapped her thigh, burning the skin underneath her chaps. “I am capable of treating you in many ways, Kivita Vondir. Remember that. Your ship is meaningless. What I shall get for you is beyond your meager ambitions. Now smile as if you are going to spread your legs for all of us.”

  She didn’t struggle as they led her into the aisle. One of the pira
tes slapped her bottom every few moments, giving the impression they’d just purchased sex from her. Kivita finally laughed with fake merriment after the other pirate squeezed her hand again.

  Shekelor led them from the dim-lit cargo bay into the adjacent one. Tannocci and Naxans sold tool kits for starship engines, modified energy dumps, and cryo equipment. A few dealt in nav computers and galley appliances. She tried to make eye contact with a few merchants; maybe they’d see her distress. But none paid her any mind.

  The pirate stopped slapping her rump and rubbed it, and the other licked her cheek, his breath worse than a sewer. Kivita maintained her smile so much, her face hurt. C’mon, think of a way to escape these assholes, or cause a disturbance the mercs will notice.

  Refugees filled the next bay, where three dapper Naxans in green jumpsuits with golden tassels ordered people into groups. The Naxans studied each refugee, examining mouths or ears with a handheld lamp. Since these people might starve, some sold themselves as indentured servants. Many would work in Sutaran strip mines or harvest desert vegetables on Nax. Most contracts lasted ten years, though many never returned from their postings.

  “Plumb stupid bitch,” the pirate who liked rubbing her said. “Our slaves could have netted some good fucking things until you ruined it all.” He pinched her rump so hard, it brought tears to her eyes.

  “Say, she’s nice. How much?” a skinny Naxan asked Shekelor, pointing at Kivita.

  Shekelor stopped with reluctance. “I purchased her for my crew. She isn’t negotiable.”

  Kivita had to restrain herself not to shout or at least do something. But what?

  One of the pirates laughed in her ear as the group continued. “Ya worth plumb more than all these skanks, Red.”

  Fury swelled in her chest. First chance she got, she’d cut off this scum’s—

  “Beautiful hair. Face to die for. How much?”

  Kivita’s heart stopped at the familiar voice.

  Shekelor turned, a deep frown on his bisected features. “I said, she is not negotiable—” His frown became a scowl.

  Someone pushed through the crowd behind them. Naxan mercenaries along the bulkheads glanced up and headed in Kivita’s direction, as refugees made way.

  Sar and Cheseia approached the pirate band.

  Kivita had never thought he looked so handsome in his gray bodyglove and polycuirass. His brown-and-green-flecked eyes measured her with their old care, desire, and charm.

  Nostrils flaring, Kivita tried to slow her excited breaths.

  “Everything’s negotiable around Tejuit Seven, Shekelor. Even your life.” Sar’s hand rested on his sword hilt. Cheseia gripped a baton.

  Kivita could almost taste the tension as both pirates holding her squeezed her arms. The pain didn’t register as she met Sar’s eyes. Her leg muscles tensed, ready to spring.

  18

  “Release her,” Sar said. “Naxans don’t like pirates.”

  Kivita’s heart beat with expectation, though none of the Naxan merchants or refugees gave her situation notice. More than anything, she wanted to draw her sword and lash out at her captors.

  Sar shot her a warning look.

  “There is nothing you can do here, Redryll.” Shekelor recovered his smile and studied Cheseia for a moment. “And I am wise to your lovely Ascali’s voice. The mercs will toss you from an airlock if you draw blood here.”

  Sar laughed, but his stare could have cracked diamonds. “Who said anything about blood?” He cleared his throat. “Fraud!”

  The Naxan merchants stopped inspecting the refugees and stared at Sar. Kivita sighed with relief as the two men holding her eased their grips. Even Shekelor appeared surprised, until his face morphed into a disdainful mask.

  “You don’t have a—”

  “Chit for her? Here it is.” Sar held up a computer chit covered in glue pen notes.

  Kivita’s muscles tensed, and she held her breath.

  Shekelor stalked toward Sar as three Naxan reps approached. Two Ascali and three human mercenaries trailed the Naxans, hands on their weapons.

  “What is this about a purchase fraud? Such an insinuation is not made lightly aboard our ships,” a Naxan said.

  “I bought this prostitute’s services before these guys took her. Got the proof right here.” Sar handed the chit to the Naxan.

  Coils writhing, Shekelor’s lips peeled back from his teeth.

  The Naxan studied the chit, glanced at Shekelor, then clicked twice with his mouth. “You?” he asked Kivita while pointing at her. “What is your name, and did this man purchase your services as he has stated?”

  Kivita kept her voice level. “I’m Kivita Vondir. Yes, we made an agreement before these brutes came along.”

  The Naxan stepped closer and clicked four times. “To verify this, what . . . services did you offer?”

  Kivita’s cheeks warmed and she licked her lips. “Some damn good sex—that’s what.”

  The Naxan studied the chit again and looked at Shekelor. “This man has a contract with this woman. Since this chit hasn’t been turned in and collected, you may not interfere with that contract. Release her.”

  The two pirates didn’t obey until Shekelor finally nodded to them; then they let go of Kivita with a shove. No way were they just going to fling her away without something in return.

  Wheeling around, Kivita shoved her knuckles into one pirate’s nose, crushing it with a pop. As the other reached for a weapon, Kivita slammed her knee into his groin.

  Two Ascali mercenaries restrained her in grips even more formidable than Shekelor’s men had, while onlookers cleared the cargo bay. Sar drew near Kivita with a scalding stare.

  The Naxan merchant raised his hands. “Violence is not tolerated in a hive-ship consortium! Remove her license for one Tejuit week. Escort her to her ship, if she has one.”

  Sar held up a hand. “I still have a contract with her. Prefer she fulfilled it on my ship.”

  The Naxan shrugged and clicked twice. “Make the best of what you’ve gained. Take her away.”

  A chill traveled up Kivita’s spine after she scanned the cargo bay. Shekelor and his men had already left the area.

  As the two Ascali led her back through the cargo bays she’d passed through, Sar and Cheseia walked on either side of them. His jaw tightened, but Sar didn’t look at her, and no one spoke. When the group passed Jandeel’s stall, the Sage wasn’t lying on the floor.

  “He’s fine,” Sar said as they wormed through a crowd of bulky Sutarans carrying trade crates.

  Kivita blinked. “Jandeel? You mean—?” She hesitated, but Sar didn’t answer.

  Right before Shekelor’s arrival, Kivita had suspected Jandeel of being a Thede, or at least a Thede sympathizer. Sar’s so-called allies might be Thedes after all, not pirates. In the time they’d spent over Gontalo, he’d been critical of the Inheritors—nothing more. But suspicion darkened her relief into frustration.

  She was tired of him saving her, tired of wanting him.

  “So, how long will you require my services, kind sir?” she asked as they passed through the bay filled with food stalls.

  “I just saved your ass, Kiv. You’re welcome.” Sar still avoided her eyes.

  She started to retort, but one of the Ascali escorts nudged her. “Be speaking to each other once you are boarding your ship. Until then, stay being quiet.”

  Though the mercenary’s professional but unyielding tone silenced her, Kivita glared at Sar until the sound of the drums filled her ears again. The same Naxan greeter waited near the airlock magnetized with Terredyn Narbas.

  “Do not be entering any Naxan hive ship in this system until a Tejuit week has been passing,” the other Ascali said. Both of them looked over Cheseia, murmured respectful words to her, then left.

  Ignoring Sar, Kivita approached the Naxan. “Have a
ny chits been turned in for my ship?”

  “Why, yes,” the Naxan replied, then made several clicking noises while operating his console. “A Tannocci garment manufacturer and a Tannocci Sage?”

  “Yeah,” she replied, shooting Sar a look. Someone had aided Jandeel; the wounded Sage couldn’t have turned in his chit already. Who else on this damn ship was helping Sar? Once again he had her . . . but not for long.

  After the Naxan keyed in the sequence for her to reenter Terredyn Narbas, Kivita stomped to the bridge. Sar and Cheseia followed.

  “Yeah, just come on in, make yourselves at home.” She enabled the autoloader, which deposited the required goods from her cargo bay. After several minutes with no one speaking, the transaction was completed. Kivita finally regarded Sar with her coolest stare.

  “I see you followed me here, just like that pirate asshole. Well, come and get it, smoothie. My services are all ready for you.”

  Cheseia scowled. “He has just truly saved you. You should be definitely thankful.”

  Kivita wanted to rub her arms and hands where the pirates had gripped her, but refused to show discomfort in front of Sar. “Oh, I’m thankful. You just made me embarrass myself in front of all those people. Plus, Shekelor’s still around.”

  “Want to join him instead?” Sar asked. “Help yourself, sweetness. Jandeel will live; we passed him after we’d spotted you with the pirates. But what were you doing talking to a Sage, Kiv? Not your usual stop in a spaceport.” He tossed the unused chit onto Kivita’s hammock. A hint of worry rose in his eyes, and he looked away.

  Kivita crammed her new hat and the purple cape into her locker. “Maybe I wanted to find out something.”

  Sar neared her, hands clenching and unclenching. “Did you ask him how the hell you managed such a shortcut from Umiracan?”

  “Would you rather the journey take the full two years?” She looked away and tried to suppress a shiver. Did they know what else she could do?

  Did she?

  Cheseia studied Kivita with narrowed eyes. “Explain to us why you certainly stole Shekelor’s ship with Seul and fled Umiracan. Why you did not answer Sar on the radio when he surely hailed you over the planet.” The command in her voice dared Kivita to lie.