We learned a lot of things, snooping around this town. I struck up a conversation with the man behind the counter at Mak’s Smoke Shop. Opening the pack of nicoperm I’d purchased, I puffed on what could pass as a homegrown beedi. “Go on, Mak, you were saying something about this guy Sharki.”
“Yeah, that bastard’s something else. Has ties in Tyrone like you wouldn’t believe. Nothing compared to his overlord, some Star Lord, Gong or Bong. I heard on good faith he’s like some strutting mogul thinks he’s Genghis Khan. Took over a few worlds out in Perseus as if flicking fleas off a firrit’s back. My cousin was enslaved by him and taken to his headquarters as a slave for life with a bunch of top people, scientists, executives, that type.”
“You don’t say?”
“All because of that bastard Sharki, beryl distributor shyster, the liaison who supplies him his warp engine crystal to fire his warships.”
“That’s a crying shame,” remarked Marty.
“Quiet, Marty. Can’t you see there’re people’s lives at stake here?”
“Bite it, Rusco. Why should I care? What does anyone care of me?”
“They’d care more about you if you kept your mouth shut and respected the dead and vulnerable.”
“Only respect they’ll get is at of the end of my R4,” Marty blared, lifting his compact, lethal black weapon.
“Let’s take it out of the shop, why don’t we? Don’t be stupid.”
Out on the street Marty went full ape. “You’re respectful of the innocent? What of Kragen’s dead defenders? Who you kidding, Mr. Righteous? Hustling and dealing. Thinking your next angle is the most important thing in the world, capitalizing on whatever sucker comes along. Hypocrite, that’s what you are.”
“I admit defeat on that one, Marty. I give you a point. Maybe we’re all hypocrites.”
He softened. “Yeah, that’s about the truth of it.”
We were just venting, bullshitting, barfing up crud on each other for all the wrath we felt in a world that could care less about us, or our individual scrabbling efforts and freedoms. The little guy, the faceless man, the downtrodden worker bee, all were bugs to be crushed under the heel of the powerful. Who was I trying to kid? When had it ever been different? We were just a couple of two-bit vagabonds wishing the universe was something other than what it was.
Maybe I was sore because I’d lost her. She’d been starting to grow on me. On Marty too—but he was just too gruff to admit it.
“What are we doing here, Marty? Scrapping and squabbling like a bunch of pre-pubescent school boys? We should be off saving that poor woman’s ass.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Let’s shake a leg and kiss and make up.”
“Sure, I’ll go get the ring.” Marty shoved some more Myscol down his throat.
“Say, you got an infinite supply of those pellets?”
“Yeah, why? No, I ain’t gonna share.”
“Good, cause I want to have a whole brain when I start beating on some heads.”
“Good.”
Only through a chance happening did we start to make any headway at all. That opportunity came soon enough.
Chapter 6
On scouting down Hell’s Acre looking at various dives, I stopped short. “There,” I nudged Marty in the ribs. “Look, that fucking skinhead from the other night. On the corner.”
“Yeah, I remember him.” Marty’s eyes glistened. “The one who tried to piss on my leg. Didn’t you ream him good? Let’s pay the sod a visit.”
As we approached, I chanced to overhear some street talk, him bragging to his punk friend, “Orders came from above, Cadd. Slap the bitch in one of the slave houses. We get 50 yols for a trade. Not enough though. Should’ve made that Sharki pay more out of his 30% commission.”
I edged in with a crooked leer. “What’s this about Sharki?”
“Nothing pops. Hey, I remember you—the old dude from the other night. Wow, you looking for something fancy? Some grab and ass tease—”
“Where is she?” I growled.
“Who?”
“My woman you stole, munchkin, remember?”
“Woman? What woman?”
Marty grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and shook him like a dog. Marty did something nasty to his nose as it met his knee at a high velocity. Blood spilled everywhere.
Hey, that’s not kosher,” squealed his friend like a pig.
“Where is she?” I rumbled.
“Dunno, man,” Bleeder wailed, snuffling through a flattened nose, dripping blood. “Try Barflies on Sunset, or Cuckoo’s Nest. Last I heard the bitch was there.”
“Get out of here,” I snarled at him, my fists rapping him hard on the skull. My blood boiled. I was ready to smash his head in but I tempered that impulse.
They huffed off, stumbling and tossing back threats.
Deidra could become some exclusive playtoy rather than a general sex slave. 30% was far too high a payout for that sack of shit Sharki. My mind flashed on the amount of time she would spend on her back for the pleasure of others, passed around from hand to hand, working the slave dives, used and abused. Slaves became factory workers here, as well as courtesans to the public, laborers in every industry this planet supplied. What kept them from fleeing? Only the blue brand on their necks. If they escaped, as soon as they were found out, the authorities would ship them back to slave central in Tyrone. Some might make it offworld, but with that ugly blue brand they would be still looked on with disrespect.
We couldn’t afford lodging, so we slumped down under a bridge of one of the canals, smelling of backwater, hands on chins, wondering what our next plan of action was.
“Come dusk, we’re going in after her,” I said.
“Are you nuts, Ruskie? Just because you traded spit with that broad doesn’t mean you’re beholden to her.”
“Get moving. We’re going to do something.”
“And what may that be?”
“This jughead
