A second SuperCat followed the first one in. They took up stations on either side of the lock, leveling 20mm machine-cannons. Tiffany’s belly tightened. With effort, she made herself exhale. Black holes at the ends of the recoilless cannon barrels looked big enough to stick a fist into.
She wanted to tell them to point the muzzles somewhere else, but knew the SuperCats would not obey. They were meant to scare her, and succeeded admirably. There was no sign of the solicitous young woman who had signaled them. She had been a polite bit of digital fakery.
Next came a man, alert and good-humored, with black tousled hair and attentive eyes. His v-suit, open to the navel, revealed a tattooed chest. A dragon inked into his left breast stared back at Tiffany. Whistling happily, he surveyed the saloon, mixing frank curiosity with open admiration. Then he bowed slightly, presenting himself, “Commander Hesse of the Hiryu at your ladies’ service. Pleased to render assistance.”
Sensors said he was giving his real name and rank. Why not? But Tiffany detected a mental hesitation at Hiryu, as he searched for the name his ship went by. The rest was pure formality.
“We don’t want assistance,” Miko retorted. It did not take sensors to tell she was angry, and frightened. Tiffany felt for her. Miko had every reason to be terrified.
Hesse smiled, “Don’t you know this system is about to be ripped apart? Your ship has no hope of escaping on her own.”
“We’ll take our chances,” Tiffany told him. Better a cosmic collision than the courtly Commander Hesse.
His attention wandered, admiring the pictures spaced around the saloon. “I have never seen a real Picasso before—only 3V. Amazing what the ancients could do with crude hand tools. All our technology cannot hope to match it.” Hesse turned back to them with a grin. “Clearly the man knew women and bulls.”
Neither woman responded. Miko was still furious. Tiffany felt sickened. She had important things to do, and would not let herself be played with. Hesse sighed. “Well, I suppose you see them every day. To business then. What are you doing in this forsaken system?”
Miko had no good answer for that. But Tiffany did. “I am doing what you should be doing.”
Hesse raised an eyebrow. “Which is?”
“Helping people escape.” At the moment she was doing no great job of it, but the thought counted. “You have a high boost vessel. You could be taking ship-loads of people to safety.”
“Oh, but you’re wrong,” Hesse assured her. “We are taking people outsystem. Cooperate, and you can come with us.”
The first part rang true. The rest was a lie. Hesse was giving no guarantees. The dragon tattoo marked him as an Eridani slaver. Hiryu meant “Flying Dragon” in a dead language; that and the Eta Eridani registry made an archaic pun. Hesse was scouring the B system for anything, or anyone, worth taking—knowing the coming catastrophe would cover any crime. And here he had a truly lucky find, a rich ship, stuffed with fine wines and works of art, crewed by two marketable women. Hesse was simply savoring his catch. Cooperate meant submit. Do what he wanted, when he wanted it, and they might be taken outsystem.
Hesse unhooked the larger of two pressure suits hanging in the lock, saying, “So, will you come with us?”
Tiffany shook her head. She had not come trillions of klicks to end up in the hold of an Eridani slaver. “Take the paintings. Take anything what you want. But leave us be.”
“Why?” Hesse was genuinely puzzled.
“I am going to Floreal.”
He laughed. “Floreal is not taking customers. It is us or nothing.”
“In that case, nothing.” Saying it made her gut go hollow.
Hesse cocked his head. “You are a odd one. And pretty to boot. But right now women are plentiful, and I am not in the mood to pamper. Will you go, or not?”
“I don’t want to go.” Tiffany found she had to force the words out, telling herself she had no real choice.
“Too bad. I could force you. But I won’t.” This had to be a boring business for a freebooter, like hunting house pets with a line-of-sight laser. He tossed the v-suit at her feet. “Suit up. It’s cold outside.”
Tiffany stared at the crumpled suit. She had always pictured being set adrift in a v-suit as a particularly terrible way to die. Hesse must have thought so too, hoping that that might make her see reason. In the old days, you died in hours from hypoxia. But modern recyclers meant that your oxygen lasted days, even weeks. Death came slowly as body heat and wastes overwhelmed the recycler. Like being buried alive in vacuum.
“Put it on,” he told her. “Or you have my word you will go out the lock without it.”
Tiffany silently pulled on the suit. She would have had a better chance appealing to the SuperCats. Sealing the v-suit up to the neck, she looked over at Miko, forcing on a smile, trying to give Miko a free choice. “I am sorry I got you here. Do what you must. You have been nothing but good to me.”
Miko nodded, standing alone in the middle of the saloon, arms folded inside her short cut kimono, looking scared, angry, and horribly sad. Mirrored bulkheads reflected her into steadily shrinking infinity.
Hesse made an “after you” bow, and Tiffany sat herself down in the open air lock. Hesse reached in and took Miko’s v-suit, then closed the inner door. The lock started to cycle.
Tiffany sealed her suit, telling herself she had no true choice. At absolute best, she would end her days as a concubine to Hesse, or someone like him. Giving up whatever gave life meaning—her hopes, ambitions, and any trace of dignity. Life at the lowest possible level. Maybe. If she was lucky.
Slavers operated with huge bounties on their heads. Every civilized world strove to shut them down; less civilized ones killed them out of hand. So victims never went free to testify.
And bad as slavers were, their customers were worse. Way worse. The utter scum of creation. In an age of 3V thrills, no one risked life and liberty buying from slavers—unless their tastes went beyond virtual rape and torment. The life Hesse offered could be lived in some obscene collector’s harem, or in a locked brothel with her speech and memory centers erased. Not tempting.
But the alternative was death in a truly horrible manner. And Tiffany desperately needed to live. Listening to the air hiss away made the knot in her gut tighter. Horror welled up. She had been so close. Now she would die for nothing. Unless…
The lock stopped cycling. Then reversed itself. Was Hesse going to give her one last chance? Tiffany steeled herself. Just say no.
The inner door opened. Miko came in wearing her vacuum suit, the helmet unsealed and tipped back. Without saying a word, she sat down opposite Tiffany. The lock closed behind her. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
Tiffany unsealed her right glove and held out a bare hand. Miko unsealed her glove and took it. Her hand felt small and fine-boned, her skin cool and comforting. She squeezed. Tiffany squeezed back.
The lock started to cycle again. Tiffany sealed up her suit, saying, “Grab an EVA pack.”
Miko looked at her like that was some last sick joke. But Tiffany picked out an EVA pack, along with the lock emergency kit. Miko grabbed a pack and sealed up.
The lock stopped cycling. The outer door sprang open. A residual puff of air propelled them out of the lock into the void beyond.
Heavenly Twins
“Don’t panic, Panic,” she told herself. A family slogan that she’d made into her emergency mantra. The cosmos spun about her. An alarming sensation. Fright battled with nausea. Trying to twist about and orient herself just made the stars spin faster.
“Quit batting vacuum.” Miko’s voice came from somewhere behind her left ear. “Lie still, spread your arms and legs.”