Crown of Slaves

Victor glanced at his watch. 'And now I'd say it's time for me and mine to set forth for the fray.'

'What do you plan to do?'

'Have you ever seen holorecordings of that rather brutal ancient Terran sport called 'bull-fighting'? Or the variant of it they still play in the Solarian League's Nueva Oaxaca sector, using native animals?'

Walter's eyes widened. 'I've seen the Nueva Oaxacan sport you're talking about, though not in person. If you can call that bloody business a 'sport.' '

'Can't say I approve myself,' agreed Victor. 'But it's a nice little analogy. I'm counting on Thandi-Lieutenant Palane-to drive in the sword. But the beast needs to be bloodied and weakened first.'

'I can't get you weapons, Victor,' warned Imbesi. 'Not without tipping off my own place in this scheme of yours-which I can't afford to do. I've stretched my 'plausible deniability' far enough as it is.'

'I wasn't asking you to,' replied Victor mildly. He loosened his wide belt and palmed an object nestled into the ornate buckle. 'This'll be enough to get me started.'

Naomi stared at the object. 'I've never heard of a palm pulser accurate at more than a few meters. I hope-'

'A few meters will be plenty. And it isn't a pulser. No pulser, no matter how small, could have made it through the security scanners in this place. It's a nonlethal stunning device, inertly powered, and you don't want to know how much it cost to make it detection-proof.'

'But what-'

Walter was almost scowling. 'I certainly hope it's nonlethal. If you start killing security guards yourself, it's going to be impossible to keep you sorted out from the bad guys when the dust settles.' He glanced at the four men who were leaning casually against a nearby wall. 'Especially given the nature of your own wrecking crew. We're cold-blooded on Erewhon, but not that cold- blooded.'

One of the four men was Donald X. The thickset ex-slave gave Imbesi a thin smile. 'Not to worry. Victor's aged a bit since the last time we encountered him. I'm sure he won't run amok the way he did on- Well. Let's hope, at any rate.'

Imbesi sighed. 'Damn High Ridge, anyway. Damn him and his children and their children. May-'

* * *

Outside, in the corridor, Donald's smile widened. 'Hadn't realized the Erewhonese were masters of the curse.'

'They aren't, really,' said Victor, now hurrying. 'It's just that they have a serious grievance-and they're not a folk who take grievances lightly.'

* * *

'Wheeeee!! Way to go, Princess!'

Lieutenant Griggs winced at the piercing feminine squeal in his ear. He normally found Princess Ruth's voice pleasant enough, but when she was excited like this…

Not, perhaps, all that excited. He noticed that she'd still had the presence of mind to call Berry Zilwicki 'Princess' when her companion managed to strike the jackpot again. Of course, from the vantage point of someone born and raised in the Manticoran royal family, the amount of money involved in the 'jackpot' would hardly be overwhelming.

Even Berry didn't seemed overwhelmed, actually. The girl was smiling widely, to be sure, but Ahmed thought that was more due to the pleasure of the game itself rather to any great glee over sudden fortune. Griggs didn't think he'd plumbed the depths of the Zilwicki girl's character on such a relatively short acquaintance. But one thing was already clear to him-Berry Zilwicki just didn't seem to care all that much for any of the small measures of triumph by which so many people gauged their lives. She seemed far more mature than her seventeen T-years would have led him to expect.

But he didn't spend much time pondering the matter. His eyes were moving steadily across the crowd, checking for any possible sign of danger and making sure his people were maintaining good positions.

Fat lot of good that'll do them, as much of a madhouse as this place is. With these milling crowds, a damned army could sneak up on us before we'd spot them.

But the thought was only middling-sour. In truth, Griggs was not really expecting any trouble here that he and his troopers couldn't handle readily enough. There was this much to be said for the space station's persnickety security policies: any assailant would presumably have been disarmed. The worst trouble he'd encountered thus far was an inebriated fellow who'd apparently found 'Princess' Berry stunningly attractive. But the girl had fended him off with a couple of witty phrases-and the lieutenant's glare had been enough to send the man stumbling off in search of easier if less nubile prey.

Berry Zilwicki hit the jackpot again.

'Wheeeee!!!'

Ahmed Griggs resigned himself to a long night.

* * *

'I've got her now,' murmured Gideon, studying the readouts on the chemotracker's display. He moved the device in his hand back and forth, selecting between three corridors. Then, nodded to the left. 'The whore's scent comes from there.'

His cousin Abraham gave the display no more than a perfunctory glance. The readouts were far too complex to be read casually, and their leader was the only one who'd mastered the art. Of course, that was mostly because he'd never let anyone else do more than look at the incredibly costly gadget.

'To the left,' said Abraham softly, passing along Gideon's command to the men trailing behind. He did not have to speak loudly. Since there was no way to disguise the fact that the large group was traveling together, Gideon Templeton had decided to turn a minus into a plus. His strike force was lined up double file, each man carrying the hand luggage which contained their weapons, as if they constituted a well-organized tour.

A moment later, Templeton and his three dozen killers were moving down the corridor. Once again, Gideon was awed by the subtlety of the Lord. On their own, he doubted very much if the old Faithful could have maintained the image of being simple tourists. Some, yes-but most had expressions on their faces which were so pinched and hostile that a solid body of them would have been rather alarming. Almost half of his crew were new converts, however, and those men made up for it by their cheerful swagger and open ogling at the sights around them. Practically the image of 'brash tourists,' they were.

Within a few minutes, they could hear the sound of revelry coming from ahead. Clearly, they were nearing the gaming halls. One young female voice sounded particularly loud and excited.

'Whores born,' hissed Gideon, 'each and every one. A place like this brings out the truth of it for all the universe to see, if the faithless had eyes.'

* * *

By the time Thandi neared her destination, she'd been able to make enough sense of the holo-guide she'd purchased to decide on a battle plan. She was basically an infantry officer, with a specialization in ship-boarding, so she had a very good sense for 'ground.' Provided that the air circulation ducts were wide enough…

There was no way to tell until they tried them, but she was betting they would be. Like any enclosed pleasure resort trying to please as wide a range of customers as possible, The Wages of Sin needed to keep the air in the station fresh and frequently scrubbed. The easiest and cheapest way to provide for that would be with wide air ducts. Wide enough, she was almost sure, to allow even someone as big as she was to pass through them. Not standing, to be sure, but Thandi had spent enough time crawling during training exercises that she wasn't concerned about being able to maneuver quickly through something as straightforward as a circulation duct.